Red was a man who had whiskers long and a temper short.
He was a man with out a home
Who worked in the park where I walked every day.
He painted pictures from his memory of how he remembered things to look
You see they took ol' reds sight in Vietnam one cold night.
I would talk to red (not to long) everyday. What ya seeing red, what's the memory of the day?
He would pull out a sketch book and show me his thought.
Once it was a big bright sun in the corner of the page.
Under the sun, blackbirds flying.
Under the black bids where a long row of clouds raining, raining stars on top of a boy laying in a field of grass.
I thought it looked cool, (all these different thoughts mangled into one).
Although his placements of somethings would be incorrect I would never tell him.
So what cha' think? Beautiful! I replied your thoughts are perfect! The rain earlier this morning, the birds feeding in the grass under the clouds! Very cool!
Red shrugs his shoulders and said,
"I never thought of what was happening today. I was thinking back to when I was a child laying in the tall grass that grew in the fields. The fields behind my home. I would watch blackbirds eat while others sang, high up in the Sun till darkened night.
Feeling embarrassed about what I had said. I was moved on how simple yet heartfelt and powerful reds thoughts were.
I apologized, Red I never he stopped me. It's my memory everyday, showing me his note book he had the same picture in it pages and pages worth. You see beauty in this picture. My story is sadness, see I never explained the stars and clouds. I had a abusive old man he would beat my mother and **** her daily in front of me. He never hurt me, he said this is how you treat a woman son go then go pass out.
I would sneak up to my sobbing mother and hold her tight. She pleaded to me never to be this way. I nodded silently and walked out side.
Scared to someday become like my father, I decided to end my life (I thought this was the only way) I ran out in front of a street bus.
The next thing I remember is awaking by my mother saying thank God your alive! I told you not to play in the street! Mama! I said reaching for her. Yes my son, God hasn't taking your life, but has taking your sight.
I always would listen to the blackbirds play in the sky on sunshine days my friend, and still do to this day.
But now also after the play the clouds come in to take them away, turning them into fallen stars from heavens sky.
He touched his arm for me to look.
It was covered in tattoos of stars. One wink and a single tear red touched me.
Thank you for listening to this old man. You are the first and last to hear my truth. God bless you son.
A week later I had heard from police red had passed in his sleep on night.
Now I look to the stars, wondering which one he is.
And wondering when it will fall to earth again.