Sunday, August 16, 2015


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A Poem Of Marred Images

He stands in the shadows
By the grey pipes and the brick wall,
Strumming his old guitar,
Beside the skid row mission,
Coins at this feet;
Looking without seeing,
Yet unseen.
His life was a
Steel sled driven by angry flame
Derailed at the change of tracks
Turning hope into rags,
And he fell from the grace
Of those who should love,
And remember that
He was created
In the image of God;
Whose son was wrapped in rags too.
Pedestrian eyes judge
The road his life took,
But they had not the same map
God drew theirs differently,
With soap, a warm bed, and a full plate.
Which is the greater failure;
The life that led him to sing in darkness,
Or those that close their eyes
Rather than hear his voice?
Let others walk past the Shadowman
Angles linger to hear his songs.

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(c) Adron Dozat 2015

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