Never Be Bought Or Souled
Never be bought or souled
The silent man picks up his plastic bags full of shopping and walks slowly home
Through a park upwards climbing on a path made of tar and stone
He sits to stop and rest on a park bench but not looking around only him alone
A bird sings in the trees to calm him but his body is stiff as old bones
The light that the sun gives might as well be blacker than blindness thrown
To be so solemn is a curse but this man cannot conquer life’s wants and needs he’s always known
An empty room awaits him and he cannot change his will for around him an ugly world has grown
This mortal man has washed himself in grief and made melancholy a part of him as if to own
He is me and I do nothing while the beautiful world is out there ready to show me a kingdom of witches and trolls.
Copyright © Peter Kiggin | Year Posted 2013
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