Invitatation To Reality

Invitation to Reality ___ Embossed, elegant and proper With white glove upon silver tray (He imagined ) the invitation Would surely come To announce his required presence to attend. His fellow wordsmith's and other known Notorious Poets of the Dusky Café , Would say, "Come speak and bend your phrase and entertain us, on this, your sixty-first birthday". A celebration that would envy, Cyrano, Don Quixote' and all those other guys with Wine, laughter and raucous noise While out on the town with the boys. With this, a gentle tear did shyly slip Past cheek, mustache and hidden laugh.' "My life is proven to be all that I have dreamed" ( ___and With that ) A crack of burn'n wood and steam Did rise to wake from within that barrel of fire That warmed the homeless and dispossessed, Quaked! Donn Booda, In cold damp shoe and common cloth, Of yesterday's still dressed. Breath of kerosene, and hunger now asleep, He’d creep 'round to avoid the shift of wind That hawkish did bite the face. Covered in smoke, ash and forgotten sins For which, he must now pay for his mistake Of pride, rebellion and anti-social ways. ' Ahhh ___ but those were the days, Those were the days. ' He wanders in whatever direction The wind blows his back Across the tracks through the brush Of once garden's pruned and manicured Til bloom of fragrant wafting airs turned to sickly smell Of graves now frozen gates to hell. Leaning against granite reality Scrapes his knuckles and barely bleeds Feels the need to rest Exhausted, crumples and collapses The stars remain fixed His world spins in ellipse Of forever turning Churning through the airless void. His Belly flutters Eyelids squint against the light Wind whoosh chases night Summer and being seven follow him Down the path to a porch well worn An unlocked door hearing his Mother's scolding scorn, ' Your hands are dirty and you're late for Dinner ' ( About : Old homeless man wanders into neglected cemetery, Dies, and spends eternity reliving memories of Thanksgiving's past.)