Outdated Poem by soren Barrett

He was a peculiar man, that found lies an unnecessary burden on the back of his memory
His small house had no space for hatred and he had thrown it out long ago
Unable to see colors or shapes he treated all the same, God included
Simple needs he harvested in his garden, creeping weed's desire for more never sprouted in his mind
His promises, hard rock do not bend in this plastic world of discardable trash
His hobby, mending broken hearts with old glue of compassion and hands of rusted wire
Neighbors, vested as charitable vultures had tried to recycle him to an asylum of unfitting pieces
Abandonment, his only friend sits at a set table awaiting where none attend
Here he shakes the only hand extended, a clock
He was a peculiar man