The Invisible Man Returns 2 21
I wrote the Invisible man poems many years ago. These poems, and I have not submitted them all, was for a little girl who died in a road accident. They are a tribute to her memory. It was a dark and very sad time and I miss her so much. The Invisible Man poems are supposed to to show the the darkness of my world, the way I felt. They are very precious to me. Thank you for reading.
Back to the place where I raised walking the streets of my old hometown nothing changes,
Having been walking for days and days the shoes I found have just starting falling apart,
My toes poke out from a big hole in the front and my blistered feet are freezing cold,
It's funny sometimes how things seem to start to give up just like my broken old heart.
As usual the cold bites through my torn clothes then the wind whips up and blows my hair,
It needs a good wash the grease lets me flatten it to my head and it's grey wavy and long,
But now the wind has changed walking becomes easier I'm glad the wind is behind me now,
This time the wind can blow in the same direction as me so now it can help push me along.
Someone is walking towards me better duck my head it's an old friend that I once knew well,
But there was no need to duck as he crosses over disgusted and he gives me plenty of space,
I can recognise him, all he sees is a pathetic tramp an old man pissed and down on his luck,
Even from the other side of the road he looks sideways just so can't bare to look in my face.
21
Invisible goes back and sits on a bench, hurt, confused, at a loss. To try and take this from his mind he thinks of nice things.
When I was a young boy the there were scented breezes I enjoyed each new day the sun always shone,
When you had friends you could play games and talk, laugh run through grass that was ever so long,
Children full of stories mostly untrue, had a unique personality each of my friends I will never forget,
But age creeps in and things change lifestyles change losing innocence is the thing I really do regret,
I dream and take myself back, back to the days when cowboys and Indians chased each other all day
Back to the days that were warm and long and we got bored we had holes in our trousers and shirts,
Sometimes when I concentrate really hard and really long I can see myself playing or standing there,
Covered in newly mowed fields with straw and grass running shouting and the wind in my long hair,
And as I take myself back I can see my friends faces running and playing football as clear as today,
What has happened to my happy life where has it gone tell me, "Why does our youth get taken away?"
Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013
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