the dogeared man
his tattered face looks into the oncoming
weather with resigned indignation
his eyes set deep into the beaten lines of his face
deep tan marks the passage of years
in the anvil of the hallendale sun
he mutters something to me
but so caught by the crawling beast of his appearance
i remain ignorant of the words
but not the meaning
he gathers me with a hand pulling on my sleeve
impels me to the concrete with comprehensions
we scatter the sand our treading had garnished from the beach
like a tenuous trail of grey
mixed with our wet footprints
already evaporating like calypso songs in the night air
he leads me to his ramshackle porch
where a thousand treasures have come to decay
where all roads of the mind lay moist with tears
i look into the dusty window to the threadbare house
there written on the wall with neat hand
is a promise from soul to soul
that he would wait for her
till time itself died
he shuffles through his backpack
pulling from its dark content
all matter of silver and gold trinket
which he tosses all into a mouldering pile in the corner
untill he reaches his true prize
a single plastic rose
and he whispers
'for you my love...for you'
he sets it at the foot of the wall
bearing his words for his lover
there it lay with a thousand other
plastic roses stained with tears
stained by the years
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
the dogeared man
his tattered face looks into the oncoming
weather with resigned indignation
his eyes set deep into the beaten lines of his face
deep tan marks the passage of years
in the anvil of the hallendale sun
he mutters something to me
but so caught by the crawling beast of his appearance
i remain ignorant of the words
but not the meaning
he gathers me with a hand pulling on my sleeve
impels me to the concrete with comprehensions
we scatter the sand our treading had garnished from the beach
like a tenuous trail of grey
mixed with our wet footprints
already evaporating like calypso songs in the night air
he leads me to his ramshackle porch
where a thousand treasures have come to decay
where all roads of the mind lay moist with tears
i look into the dusty window to the threadbare house
there written on the wall with neat hand
is a promise from soul to soul
that he would wait for her
till time itself died
he shuffles through his backpack
pulling from its dark content
all matter of silver and gold trinket
which he tosses all into a mouldering pile in the corner
untill he reaches his true prize
a single plastic rose
and he whispers
'for you my love...for you'
he sets it at the foot of the wall
bearing his words for his lover
there it lay with a thousand other
plastic roses stained with tears
stained by the years
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