Morning, signified by the streak
of sunlight across his squinting eye.
Wishing, looking up with disdain,
for the return of the night sky.
Alone, but for the gleam, he speaks
with no one to listen, no one to hear.
He wonders aloudâ€¦
would anyone notice should I disappear?
Trained ears hear the distant sound
as church bells begin to chime,
reminding his empty being
that soon it will be time.
The familiar, pleasant voice
greets him at the door.
Still, the shame is unavoidable
as his eyes focus on the floor.
The brown bag makes a crinkling sound
firm within his grip.
Gingerly he peers inside,
knowing it was worth the trip.
Digging past prepackaged food
given for his nourishment
he finds the slip with written word
offered for his encouragement.
Drinking in the words of love,
inhaling them like fresh air.
This was just the sustenance he needed,
a friendly voice and a prayer.
| Hey, I liked it. Some poems do not require "fire", but do just fine with comfort.|
|| Posted on 2016-07-17 00:00:00 | by Blue Monk | [ Reply to This ] || A boring life and a boring poem, no fire, no passion, sad.||| Posted on 2016-07-11 00:00:00 | by poetotoe | [ Reply to This ] || There are times that that I feel like the "he" in your poem. As a bachelor, the only voice I sometimes hear is my own...sometimes cursing, sometimes thanking...you get the idea. Sometimes, the days are rougher than usual. Things seem to pile up - as they do from time to time. And then, for no reason, something happens that helps put things in perspective. Like antacid to an unsettled stomach (poor use of a simile)...and soon the dissonance subsides.|
The note in the lunch bag was just what "he" needed to put things in place for him...to settle him. While the food was necessary...the words satisfied a much greater need. Whoever she is...I envy him for her knowing what he needed.
Thank you for sharing,
|| Posted on 2016-07-09 00:00:00 | by krs3332003 | [ Reply to This ] |