A Forgotten Man Poem by steve chris

A forgotten man
dying in a ceaseless filth of life
like an old worthless penny
tarnishing under the yellow newspaper
that line in a drawer

what nobody wants and nobody can bear to throw away
He is not even the random electrical impulse crossing the people's mind
but faster than the early rivers he ran
glittered and embittered
killing the day awash in the limbo of a sunlight
the whole night blow through him

He pours his spirit into his ears
to listen to his black and deep desires
to see his feelings fly him back into the central bliss of time

He has walked beyond the edge of the world
where there is only earth and sky
he has been there exposed for a while
standing like a pleasant smelling flower
planted in the riverbed of confidence
cherished and admired
but plucked by greedy human hands
and harnessed into a pot of dirt