1 quote 4 that!

‘Be Yourself’

I could write the many things i wish to say,

Here, now, just to enchant your mind

And then, to delete all i wrote, in the next day,

Just to show you that was nothing written yesterday,

And you was blind…

I could write the many things i like to do,

In quick phrases, to satisfy your curiosity, today,

But later, i will erase all the words i wrote you,

And all you’ll see will be a clear background, gray…

I could write a lot of words, describing myself,

Just to show how interesting person i can be,

But right after that i won’t say anything,

And i will leave and let u solve that mystery…

I could write u a collection of books with my life,

Just to show the beauty of Life,

But right after that, i will burn those books,

Cos the complex words are nothing to me,

But only the simplest ones,

Full of truth, cold as ice,

Will be those musical tones,

That i always wish to hear,

So, then, these ones are written but not deleted;

These truths, now, were stated.

@Th3Mirr0r

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Poems – part 1.

See the man walking down the highway.
He wears only ragged shorts and worn-out shoes.
His hair is long and stringy,
His skin is like leather, beaten by the sun over many summers.
He walks the highway from one end of the lake to the other.
A common sight on any day, he is known as Nature Boy,
But his real name is Paul.
Sometimes he looks old, sometimes young,
Most times ageless.
No one knows where he came from.
Some say he is a millionaire
Who lost his family in an accident.
Now he walks the highway and sleeps by the tracks.

One day I offered him a ride.
He looked into my window,
A scared child, apprehensive, untrusting.
“Paul’, I tried to assure him, “It’s okay.
It’s okay, Paul”.
Hearing the sound of his name,
He relaxed some, and climbed in.
We rode in silence, he, very still, barely moving.
I did not ask him how far he was going,
He didn’t tell me; he didn’t have to.
I had watched him each day,
I knew his routine.
I stopped at the place where he always left the road,
He climbed out, saying nothing,
And watched as I drove away.

He was found by the railroad tracks.
Some say he died in his sleep,
No one really knows.
He was just a character, a curiosity.
But for me he was a person, a brother, a friend.
We had shared a brief moment in time,
In silence, but still we had shared a moment.
I had looked into his eyes; I had seen his soul.
To this day it haunts me.
Who was Nature Boy?
Who really was Paul?

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Nature Boy.

His eyes watch her
from across the room.

Her body,
sways like palm trees
in the wind.
Her hand,
an ice-skater gliding the chalk
over the board.
Her voice,
a song the sweet birds sing.

His face,
unfathomable still,
but eyes glisten watching
the performance mill.

What is he thinking?

I wonder,
watching his eyes focused on only her
all the bustling bodies disappear asunder.

The tap tap tap
of his pen against the desk
becomes the beat of the music,
the beat of the heart.

What’s in his heart?
So hard to tell
as he sits a shadow on the wall.

The tap tap tap
of his pen against the desk
becomes the beat of my heart,
the pounding in my head.

I wonder,
watching only focused on him
the surroundings become so surreal I’m lost.

What is he thinking?

My face,
perplexed still
as curiosity strikes my intellect
watching his body mill.

His body,
quivers like a dog’s tail
impatiently in his seat.
His hand,
a musician drumming the pen
against the desk.
His eyes,
the night sky full of stars
and wonders of the universe.

My eyes watch him
from across the room.

-Angelica

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Watching Bewildered.