A bit of magic, a bit rough, needs a bit of work
of life on earth
the sunset was the color of finality
the wind blew in heretic gales
and the man they had been waiting for walked
through the door of the ramshackle bar
the final resting place of youthful dreams
and battered true love
He wore a grey hat to keep the sun
and the neon off of his old eyes
He held a crooked cane
The people in this little bar had been waiting for the man
since the sun rose red that morning
some had been waiting their whole lives
since the moment they blinked
the blurry world into bright focus
and they didn't know why
Each one had a frame
a picture frame
no pictures just frames
frames from home collected somewhere before today
collected from one of their sad trips down dusty regret roads
a curio store on a rainy walk home
a trunk dusty from an old attic life
a gift from someone, they couldn't remember who
they all had one
They watched the man
like the sun watches the moon
when she thinks everyone else is asleep
they smiled as he walked by
this man in the grey hat
He shuffled to the bar
and whispered something to the bartender
something perfect and gleaming
nobody could hear what he said
not even the bartender
but he brought him a drink with ice anyway
and the man stirred it
and he stirred it
and he stirred it
no one made a sound
the clock on the wall even stopped ticking
watchful, uncertain, reluctant
He whispered to no one
in a rasp like a broken screen door
"I want to read you a poem" he said
still eyeing his drink, he didn't look up
the bartender nervously polished the bar
the neon beer lights hummed
everyone waited
And he read them a poem
written in the sweat of his glass
on the top of the stained
midnight confessional bar
and everyone listened
It was beautiful this poem
sun and frost
and holding hands for the first time
everyone listened
and it was horrible
tragic, heartbreaking, finite
and when he was done
the people were weeping
quietly
quietly
They hid their faces in their hands
turned away
wiped the corners of their eyes
they wept
they understood and they wept
The man in the grey hat
took a sip from his drink
it barely touched his lips
He slipped off his barstool like a shadow
and walked to the door
no one looked at him
they wanted to
needed to
but didn't, couldn't
they looked at their picture frames
no pictures just frames
some traced the edges of the glass
others laid them to rest
back in their purses
face down on their table
He opened the door
and the sunlight snuck in
a single dusty shaft spilling on the floor
but the door hissed shut
and it was dark once again
and nobody moved
they just stared and cried
stared and cried
at their picture frames
no pictures just frames
Outside the sky was black
and that was the end
of everything
Poetry by Rapscallion
Read 989 times
Written on 2010-06-22 at 09:37
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And That Was the End of Everything
It was the last dayof life on earth
the sunset was the color of finality
the wind blew in heretic gales
and the man they had been waiting for walked
through the door of the ramshackle bar
the final resting place of youthful dreams
and battered true love
He wore a grey hat to keep the sun
and the neon off of his old eyes
He held a crooked cane
The people in this little bar had been waiting for the man
since the sun rose red that morning
some had been waiting their whole lives
since the moment they blinked
the blurry world into bright focus
and they didn't know why
Each one had a frame
a picture frame
no pictures just frames
frames from home collected somewhere before today
collected from one of their sad trips down dusty regret roads
a curio store on a rainy walk home
a trunk dusty from an old attic life
a gift from someone, they couldn't remember who
they all had one
They watched the man
like the sun watches the moon
when she thinks everyone else is asleep
they smiled as he walked by
this man in the grey hat
He shuffled to the bar
and whispered something to the bartender
something perfect and gleaming
nobody could hear what he said
not even the bartender
but he brought him a drink with ice anyway
and the man stirred it
and he stirred it
and he stirred it
no one made a sound
the clock on the wall even stopped ticking
watchful, uncertain, reluctant
He whispered to no one
in a rasp like a broken screen door
"I want to read you a poem" he said
still eyeing his drink, he didn't look up
the bartender nervously polished the bar
the neon beer lights hummed
everyone waited
And he read them a poem
written in the sweat of his glass
on the top of the stained
midnight confessional bar
and everyone listened
It was beautiful this poem
sun and frost
and holding hands for the first time
everyone listened
and it was horrible
tragic, heartbreaking, finite
and when he was done
the people were weeping
quietly
quietly
They hid their faces in their hands
turned away
wiped the corners of their eyes
they wept
they understood and they wept
The man in the grey hat
took a sip from his drink
it barely touched his lips
He slipped off his barstool like a shadow
and walked to the door
no one looked at him
they wanted to
needed to
but didn't, couldn't
they looked at their picture frames
no pictures just frames
some traced the edges of the glass
others laid them to rest
back in their purses
face down on their table
He opened the door
and the sunlight snuck in
a single dusty shaft spilling on the floor
but the door hissed shut
and it was dark once again
and nobody moved
they just stared and cried
stared and cried
at their picture frames
no pictures just frames
Outside the sky was black
and that was the end
of everything
Poetry by Rapscallion
Read 989 times
Written on 2010-06-22 at 09:37
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text|
NicholasG |
