There’s a young little boy in the old town square
Who sits so quietly
And looks at the sun and the dust in the air
And he never smiles for me
And if I could I would wish for that little boys face
To break into a grin
But it cant, and it wont, let the little boy pray
O lord let the smile win
And his face is a cloud and his eyes are the rain
His hair a shade of night
And he bats at the smiles with an old mans cane
And wishes the stars weren’t bright
And I’ve tried and I’ve tried and there’s others that tried
To open his eyes and his mouth
But for reasons unknown and reasons beside
His heart was the one stayed south
And its south where I sit on many a day
On a bench by the river park
And I wish and I wish in horrible ways
For a single breath of dark
And parts of me sit with that boy in the square
And they sit so quietly
And look at the sun and the dust in the air
And neither will smile for me
The poignant discomfort sits for a while after as well. The images continue to resonate with that disturbing harmony usually associated with decidedly unsettling dreams─dreams that leave you awake, alone, silent in the darkness, but slip away to the dark side of memory with the light of morning.
liked it, it creates a picture in your mind. that's hard to do.
This is almost a song, at least in my mind I hear it that way. You really create a vivid image of the little boy, the man, the scene. I enjoyed this, L&T
Very enjoyable...although somewhat sad. Isn't it amazing how we identify and react to, that part of ourselves, which we also find in others...: -) Hugs, dee
I like this a lot Ben, it has a lovely use of form and language. Heuse of rhyme works very well and the metre is well paced.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A most enjoyable tale and a fine write... bravo!