a man

He tries
to feel

to feel for
promises
he wants to
but knows he’ll never keep


he walks alone
beside
such clever words
and says
this is enough -
his bitter laughter
barely
just barely
drowning out
the hollow ringings
his own words make


his beating heart
for brilliant wit
long since traded in
and if he’s fast enough
he will not notice
the odd old beat
within
his hidden chest

his mirthful eyes,
intelligent
so sadly beautiful to watch
they see all
who need compassion,
but who in turn
will show him none
and will mock -
those who could show him any.



and sometimes
briefly
very briefly
in those blue eyes
there is the boy
who never did grow up
who, when he looks at you
the bitter mirth is gone
and standing there
just standing
all alone
is the man
flawed
and wonderful.

(for an irishman)