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.