White Suede Wing Tips With Candy Apple Red Laces

An ordinary young man in his twenties Working by day, alone by night Routine lulls him to feel forever serene Never a new dream or fantasy Living an obligation Making his parents proud yet nothing causes him to become too loud Drab clothes Make him an easy target for his many foes Friends don’t know his name Except for those who know him as Mr. Cello-phane Multitudes cross his path yet all see right through To ignore him is nothing new He yearns for love yet learns the mundane At times he cries in solitude, wailing profane He’s not funny He can’t dance He wouldn’t dare take a chance Never a thought to take a risk Fearing it may end with a police frisk He has no vice His purity will have to suffice There is no vodka or casual sex No gambling nor the audacity to bounce checks Never a spontaneous trip or even a sarcastic quip He won’t even call in sick His excuse could never be sufficiently slick He’s ever so wholesome which leaves him so lonesome He won’t smoke nor tell a funny a joke When a gorgeous woman does pass He wouldn’t dare turn to check out her ass He won’t masturbate for fear of the guilt he would eventually subjugate He’s neither priest nor pastor Not particularly religious or prodigious His hair is straight and teeth are white His clothes are neat yet invoke fright He’s not articulate nor original in thought He’s paralyzed by the fear of getting caught Dull, lifeless and only in his twenties He’s nearly dead, living a life he would rather shed Strolling in the Village heading east on Bank Measuring his paces as if walking the plank Now turning onto Bleecker, emotionally he’s never felt meeker A pause and a glance interrupts his trance An unfamiliar energy encourages him to chance In the shop window, white suede wing tips lure with magic Spending his last dollar could be fatefully tragic He dons the wing tips, they are so in vogue Giving him an edge to become so rogue Deliberately knotting the candy apple red laces A surge of confidence he sees reflected in others faces He strides through midtown, pacing toward Central Park Noticing a difference in himself that’s shockingly stark His bold choice of shoe has led him to a personal breakthrough Could it be that it was he Living all this time without a shine A living dead yet not a zombie How could he have lived a life so glumly He chooses not to look back with remorse For today he has chosen an invigorating course A simple catalyst thrust his status to protagonist White suede wingtips with candy apple red laces All his demons his new spirit chases A small, seemingly innocuous purchase drains his sadness Building fresh momentum, his fulcrum enabling brashness Find your catalyst, small or large And assume your role to take charge For him it’s white suede wing tips with candy apple red laces For you, never surrender hope or eliminate its traces You may find your trigger in the faces of unknown races Don your white suede wing tips, gently kiss her lips, firmly grasp her hips then create a never ending stream of personal championships White suede wing tips with candy apple red laces