The Simplest of Relationships, a Poem

Translated…

There Stood a Man,

Withering Away Like the Leaves

Waiting, for Everybody Else to Get Off

Then, Walked Home

we’re all, waiting, NOT my photograph…

Not Knowing Where Each and Every One of His Steps Led

On the Arms of the Depths of the Night

He’d, Picked Up His Paces Every Now & Then

So the Sorrows Won’t Catch Up

The Rain was Thin, the Wind, Strong

The Window and Door, Made a Wolf

not my photo…

As it’d, Howled Toward the Nothingness

Only that Confidence from the Cell Phones

With the Fingertips, Sliding

That Sort of a Spirit that One Has

For Overlooking a Mountain Range

The Weather that Filled Up the Streets Fell Ill

And, the Assortments of Thoughts Proved to be, Futile

The Messy Hair Couldn’t, Grab a Hold

Onto the Thoughts

the psychological storms, way worse than the one going on outside, isn’t it???

The Rain and the Wind had Stopped

After the Goodnight

He’d Weathered Through His Own Personal Storms All Alone

You can’t help, but wonder, WHERE this man’s sense of feeling so alone comes from, and, this, IS the simplest kind of relationship that anybody can have, with oneself!

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