Wednesday, 20 February 2013
A man I once knew.
I once knew a man, a remarkable man,
a man called Adam Bell,
His comings and goings were strange and alone
sacred and sterile as an old monk's cell.
At the back door of mediocrity
he pitched his tent,
Hung his soul on the gable of Heaven to dry,
fumbled and fell on the rungs of fate
narrow grin on the lips, smile dead in the eye.
His face was the colour of a fallen leaf,
His hair crow-black as a furnace door,
He wore new hands to shake with the master,
Forehead, mesh of wrinkles, waiting many more.
He found the pathway into silence
thought that wisdom beckoned him as a guest,
Many lies gave him room to manoeuvre
Hoarding sentiment's rations to his chest.
His future not demanding but impatient
Never did he mention his obvious pain
He spoilt his fire with too much poking,
the cloth of the mind absorbs many a stain.
His destiny progressed at it's own slow pace
and he prayed to the stars and the moon,
as all the insane he knew the world was mad
His clock went on strike before noon.
Still lies can walk while the truth stays rooted
Time here is merely granted, we can't make the call,
Adam Bell died in a house of foul humour
He that is down fears no fall.