dream weaver
a cynical look
life had kicked you in the dirt,
then the kicks got a little harder
and the cynic in you flourished wild,
the kids suffered
you didn’t want to teach anymore,
I wish we’d of met before
when you had a angry world to slay.
a drunken dishevelled man
unkempt and inconsistent in speech,
you reminded me of me
even at my young age,
we were both out of sync
for different reasons, of that I’m sure,
still, the effects of segregation are the same
they leave their bloody welt.
I often wonder what happened to you
your old house around the corner was long since sold,
you left your impressions upon me
wounds, if you will, more prominent as I’ve grown older,
you taught me without realising
of the importance of being yourself,
how to not care what inconsequential people think of you
because when you close your eyes they don’t have to be there.
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