The man that stood in black.
That man that was there,
When I always turned back.
He, That man,
Was there,
Standing still.
Cold as ice,
But eyes warm,
And mind so nice.
The Man In Black, and I
Spoke thru silence.
We stood there.
Eyes growing wilder in violence,
But yet the conversation
Was so sweet.
Tender enough to the point
I needed no greet.
The Man In Black,
Was hard to make of.
I couldn’t see much of his face,
Except that his teeth and eyes
Was as white as a dove.
He showed much remorse
Thru smiles, and love.
He covered me thru all of my
Hard times.
When I had to push and shove.
But The Man In Black
Was a scheme and darkness.
Every talk we had,
My silence grew angry.
My silence was violence.
My silence became a riot…
It became a riot.
A RIOT!
RIOT!!
RIOT!!!
RIOT!!!!
I couldn’t hide it.
I loved The Man In Black,
But why couldn’t he stay for long?
Why when I had problems he
Seems to always be gone?
WHERE’S THAT MAN?!
Why…
I thought I had a friend.
I just wanted a friend.
That man in black,
Was a trace of myself.
My guilt.
My conscious.
My trend.
I no longer had a friend,
That was in all black,
That man became me.
Every time I turned back.


                  Marci H.