“and so, the sun rises”

and so, the sun rises

with all the charm a broken salesman can muster

from behind forced smiles,crying

in this stench of late July,

walking down Burden street,

“…if only i could catch a break…things would be different…”

but the look an a mother’s

face as she pulls her child away,

her words barely heard,

“…don’t bother the nice man…”

tells a story that doesn’t change,

his path unswayed

and again he strolls

in his suit,soiled

just slightly short

of fitting,

a lonely walk down Burden Street

and a left at


you can see him

say goodnight, if you

look just right,

eyes pierced by the

setting sun

A man standing at

the cross streets of

Burden and Death

praying to everyones’

no one to make a tomorrow

in which he might

sit and be content

the warm swing-swang

of a wooden rocking chair

lazily wandering

back and forth, caressing

the porch to a home

he called his own

‘…that’s peace’

he’ll say

and wink to no

one in particular

and before you can think

to speak the words,

‘…it’ll be alright if you stay with me tonight…’

you’ll see him sink

out of sight,

and a certain warmth

may leave you in a sigh


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