poetry

the can-man (revised)

Harry was a can man
‘the best in town’
built bridges on tears
that fell
down to the
Ground.

Harry had a must
that
bent and bothered
The rest of us
He drew with him a fair
crowd,
but he could not hear the
music.

Harry was a grand spick-an-span
man. He saw no evil
or heavy regret that
rusted in our throats.
He made the world find a laugh,
because he could not hear the music.

Harry was today’s fan, he babbled
away that he had a plan, to solve the
waste the draped the day.
That only happened in hairy tales
it told toddlers playtime was up,
a toy was about to break.

Harry lost the fans, the can
and his plan. They all fell away
like folding cards, buckled behind
bigger fears.

He cried in his stone-cloned room,
he lost the nerve to pick up
his drooping head.
Harry could whisper, a small
‘if only’ that fell onto his drawing
of the best can man in town. a
Giant who spoke resounding thoughts
(and most probably)
could hear the music.

PhilosopherPoet

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