Its a new project
I asked someone to be a muse not long ago and that didn't work. You can't buy a muse, they have to come out of the unexpected. Anyway, writers write and if I want to give myself the title of journeyman poet, I guess I have to write something. I started thinking about portraits of strangers.. random encounters that leave an impression. I have two in my pocket but today I saw a guy that made me say "I really wonder what the story is behind this". Tell me what you think
I Know He’s Only an Old Man
On the Metro
I’m minding mine and a friends but no one else’s
He got on
He is only an old man after all
I see him
It would be impolite to catch his eye, a stranger’s eye
I just observe
Why do I care to take down the impressions of a stranger
Just an old man
He has a skullcap
Odd, one doesn’t see that in these modern days
Not religious
He doesn’t seem to wear piety on his head as well
Maybe the wardrobe?
It’s an old set of clothes but not out of place at all
Ah, in his hand
5 light yellow roses, a small bunch held most delicately
Beautiful flowers
Maybe the color
He is grays and whites and blacks from his cap down
They, creamy yellow
They stand out in their way the way he blends into the seat
Looking happy
He tries to keep his face a cipher, yet there is a shimmer
Maybe contentment
He leaves at the next stop, betraying little of his story
I hope its love
I Know He’s Only an Old Man
On the Metro
I’m minding mine and a friends but no one else’s
He got on
He is only an old man after all
I see him
It would be impolite to catch his eye, a stranger’s eye
I just observe
Why do I care to take down the impressions of a stranger
Just an old man
He has a skullcap
Odd, one doesn’t see that in these modern days
Not religious
He doesn’t seem to wear piety on his head as well
Maybe the wardrobe?
It’s an old set of clothes but not out of place at all
Ah, in his hand
5 light yellow roses, a small bunch held most delicately
Beautiful flowers
Maybe the color
He is grays and whites and blacks from his cap down
They, creamy yellow
They stand out in their way the way he blends into the seat
Looking happy
He tries to keep his face a cipher, yet there is a shimmer
Maybe contentment
He leaves at the next stop, betraying little of his story
I hope its love