A Nameless Old Poet

an old wrinkled man,
with hard eyes that cut like ice,
and bled tears soft and deep.....

smoked too much,
liked a drink after dinner;
tossed in sleepless rhymes

of faces he couldnt name...
colors drained to black and white,
throbbing in his hands...

carving the whispers of demons
and angels deep into the flesh,
pulling infinity from human misfortune....

possessed by a love
for the beaten and downtrodden,
carrying buckets of water

up the hill till he could
walk no more.....
writing the scriptures of human desire

in the face of the hellish and numb!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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