The Invisible Man Poem by Kel Smith

four bare walls
erected like porcelain sculptures
shaping into a hollow room.
a lone chair sits.

the gentle breeze
tumbles across the invisible mans face,
emotionless, unattached, empty
like the room.

Walls, once splashed in pale yellow, dancing
now barren and white.
He leans out the window
to catch the August rain.

Autumn arrives,
the orange sun sets,
a beaming beacon in the window.
still, the invisible man sits.

the panes of glass
chime sweetly in the wind
tolling the passing of time
as distant thunder rumbles.

teardrops stain his face
falling heavily like the rain,
silently breaking apart
they land in the windowsill

he shifts back to his chair
body trembling, he lowers himself
in a gesture, the tears are gone
he becomes one of the walls

in a hollow room
a lone chair sits
an invisible man once stood
nobody knows what happened.