vincent armone (1/24/70 / Brooklyn)
Now he takes his waiting stool.
with all the other greats, on the boulvard of broken dreams.
head down, he now looks up, only to recieve his drink.
his black fedora hides his tear filled eyes.
The others wont bother him.
for it also took them long to accept there place here.
on the boulvard of broken dreams.
a place were large windows show the stricken.
life did beat him, he tried to enjoy its thrills.
but it turned out so bad, and oh how he felt so alone.
went from black to white, shot down like a smooth crimenal.
now here he is, in neverland, with those he so admiered in life
ashamed, frightened, and hurt.
for he new the world could be a better place.
but now he sits a tragic figure. with all the others
in the diner.
on the boulvard of broken dreams
Comments about this poem (Micheal jackson by vincent armone )
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