Weep In A Flowerless Place
I walk on the rubble
Hard city concrete
In the sad, grey afternoon
My shoes are weary and worn
Going down the ancient avenues
Where I paced myself
Broken-hearted a hundred times before.
I’m hungry for love and hope,
But live on the pointless stale bread
Of defeated, lingering memories
And impossible dreams that resurface
With cackling voices of mockery.
If my special friend could find me today,
She would weep in a flowerless place
For what has become of me.
Saturday, November 10, 2007