|
The Gray Man
8/20/04
He clashes with the scenery.
Rags ripped from torn memories
drape a frail body devoid of colors.
The bleaching rain made him gray.
His skin is tanned leather.
Sun beaten, and dust dried
he travels the world in a corner
of a street, in a town, where he is not.
He is, he cries, but no one hears.
His shell is louder than his silent spirit.
He is, he knows, but no one feels.
His long shadow casts cold fears.
Where is the brother you knew?
Where is the mother that held you?
Where is the father that watched you?
Are you no one’s? Are you no one?
His demons feed on his soul
They nurture his vice with their breath.
We nurture the demons with silence
They feast as he grows gray.
| 
