The Masterplan
The can that still defines the man
Proffered skyward like some masterplan.
A trophy of those glory days
When youth was king
And dreams obeyed.
This same old street
Those same old feet
That echoed to the anthems beat
And led you to the Promised Land
Where drugs and money went hand in hand
Still search from bench to pub and back
In worn out shoes and anorak
Denying age its rightful stage
Through vengeful rants and drunken rage.
Through incoherent lullabies
And jumbled words and wailing cries.
Though real as truth spun on a wheel
Eternal as the now is real-
As real as life brings us to heel when death is all there’s left to feel.
The can that still defines the man
Still proffered like some masterplan.
A trophy of those glory days
When youth and dreams were soon betrayed.
Copyright © Wayne Riley | Year Posted 2018
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