To Be Complete
I knew a man spent too many nights Quiet quiet, wishing for a lover He didn’t know quite what that meant, Staring at his own lament. He’s a picture of roaring fire. He’s a picture of cold desire.
I knew a man wasted too many days Staring at skies and picking at petals. Poor man didn’t know what it meant, Staring at cement. He’s a picture of flower beds. He’s a picture of empty heads.
I knew a man spent too many hours Curled up pale, ringed and bent. He was sick, his friends could see. Nobody else can set you free. He’s a picture of roaring tides. He’s a picture of empty insides.
I knew a man who went separate ways. Looking for the corner prize. Didn’t realise when he parted, He’d left it where he started. He’s a picture of lonesome nights. He’s a picture of cold daylight.
I knew a man just a moment ago, Arms full of old things he hugs to his breast; Rusty old dusty old worthless things— Photographs and wedding rings. He’s a picture of a weak heartbeat. He’s an old picture, framed and complete.