poetry

the can-man

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

Advertisements
Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s