Poetry For Everyday People
Not Yet Known
The wind
seems to know
my name
when I'm alone,
walking in pure
existence, yet
not another soul acknowledges,
you get people
who get looked at
too much, even
tired of it,
then you get
the walking silent,
the flower observer,
the unknown talent,
no place to go
but your dreams,
no compromise
when it comes
to matters of
absolute need,
heart leading,
mind consuming,
soul deep in blues,
invisible but
the gardenias
know you're there,
the fountain in which
you've thrown a penny
or two, wishing,
you got so much love,
laughter, wisdom, ready
to give, share, your tired
of the room, the nights
of hugging pillows and
flipping through a million
channels of very little,
your drawer's got secrets,
as we all
breath the night,
somehow
the wind
seems to know
our names
when we're alone,
unlike the world
that seems: unhip
to subtlety, overwhelmed
by simplicity, and utterly
unaware of the power
of art,
within one soul,
the roses wink.
seems to know
my name
when I'm alone,
walking in pure
existence, yet
not another soul acknowledges,
you get people
who get looked at
too much, even
tired of it,
then you get
the walking silent,
the flower observer,
the unknown talent,
no place to go
but your dreams,
no compromise
when it comes
to matters of
absolute need,
heart leading,
mind consuming,
soul deep in blues,
invisible but
the gardenias
know you're there,
the fountain in which
you've thrown a penny
or two, wishing,
you got so much love,
laughter, wisdom, ready
to give, share, your tired
of the room, the nights
of hugging pillows and
flipping through a million
channels of very little,
your drawer's got secrets,
as we all
breath the night,
somehow
the wind
seems to know
our names
when we're alone,
unlike the world
that seems: unhip
to subtlety, overwhelmed
by simplicity, and utterly
unaware of the power
of art,
within one soul,
the roses wink.
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Not Yet Known
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