For one of the strangest of the men
But a speaker of the truth
Was a man named Jackson
Who was darker than most
He never ever like to boast
For this man had patience
He held his tongue well
For he knew that words where precious
Like a promise, he kept to himself
His skills at riding horses were that of a drunk
He used the strangest wording like "Punk" and "Junk"
He was a sweet talker
That he was
Got into some trouble of that
I will not speak of
He mostly kept to himself
But when allowed to speak
He wouldn't stop talking
Till the birds ran the ring
The strangest tales flowed from his lips
Of sliding down mountains
And machines made of tine?
I think him crazy
The others do not
They gather around
Like a herd master to his flock
He is a great speaker
But twice a great listener
He defends what he believes in
With the iron tongue, god wrought
He seeks inspiration in the strangest of places
Wandering through our group during sleep
Asking away about our dreams
Never a care it would seem
Some may say he was hard as a rock
But I see softness where others cannot
For this is what this strange boy is
Nothing more, nothing less
But this journey truly is his one final test
YOU ARE READING
The Poetry Gripe
PoetryWelcome to a collection of poems I've written over the years. Some are a true delve into meaning and life. While others struggle with love and strife. The path ahead is not so easy. Please be careful reader, the mind is not so easy.
