I had a coat on my shoulders,
A cigar between my lips,
An eternity of interval,
And a thousand half planned trips.

They were the last logs of winter,
And first sprouts of spring,
Nights, as the one I wandered,
With a handful of nothing.

I took a two pence loaf,
From a baker I knew well,
Well enough to gift a smile,
Even when the bread was stale.
One half I kept in my pocket,
The other I nibbled dry;
Leaning by the lake,
Watching lovers lay goodbye.

At midnight the great clock tolled,
For the world walking on wire,
It was time for some to wake,
And for some to warily retire,
But not me, never me, as I
Was alone without a cause,
Against this shelf laid life,
Above the men with laws.

So I took a dark left turn,
In an alley deep and damp,
Where the walls were two arms stretching,
Where I could not light my lamp,
Ever and ever I walked,
Without a halt or stay,
Ever and ever I walked,
Till I found the Lost Man’s way.

There against the sky,
Like a firefly in the night,
Stood a four spired Villa,
As bright as seashell white.
Its steps sang with my feet,
An arpeggio from broken strings,
Took me to a door that was Cobalt blue,
With handles of floating wings.

I knocked twice upon the wood,
And twice did laughter came,
The third worked as a charm,
And someone asked my name.
I said I was a wanderer,
With a bit of mud on my boot,
A lover, a vagabond, a sailor,
A gentleman, a conquerer, a brute.

I was ushered in the rousing gathering,
In that Hall of mirrors vast,
Where every face resembled,
Someone from my past.
But they knew me as a stranger,
So as a stranger did I try,
To love those who had laughed at me,
And to amuse all who I had once made cry.

Till morning did I dance,
Till the first drop of dew did I drink,
Till the silence made me lie,
Till the madness made me think,
So I wore my peaked cap,
And left the remaining bread,
Paid farewell to those smiling phantoms;
To their memory that never fade.

I had a coat on my shoulders,
A cigar between my lips,
An eternity of interval,
And a thousand half planned trips.

Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.

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