The Saint
Posted by Kaleidoscope on June 2, 2006
Written by: Marqas Copyright 2006
His hands were like chasms that had been filled in with a life-time of dirt and grit.
Speaking in a babble of tongues, he spoke the names of the Saints.
He was not crazy; I could see lights behind his eyes.
He had seen things no man should ever have to see; lived like everyman presumptuously wished.
He knew St. Luke’s but he prefers to live outside.
Crumpled pages, all scraps of paper - a trail of missed hopes and unfulfilled dreams.
I could only watch him walk away.
Posted in Marqas (USA) | Tagged: Poetry | No Comments »
