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A Cobbler's Dream

Kenneth has a taste for abstract/prose poetry as well as the comical side of life. 23-years of writing for a newspaper has served him well.

Day in and day out--sweating, dying.

Day in and day out--sweating, dying.

Sucking a breath, lifting a hammer, hoping to see darkness tonight
Looking hopelessly though a filthy window to see cold ghosts.
Such a strange moment--a warm hearth. Just an organized light.
The serving maid gladly hands out the damp toasts.

I see her feet cold and bothered by lifetime's march
I hear her sighs tormented from pain-filled sunrises.
The cardinals meet in weakened, screaming arch.
The padre, a silent man, not of hate, but careful summizes.

Holding my lifetime in one tried palm
Foggy edge of a far away shore.
Talk is over, hate is cooked, lies are calm.
Ever tasting my old cloak that's tore.

Hobbling men on wooden crutches sway
Begging, pleading, a crumb or crust to eat.
Could be the smallest blessing of old man's way.
Or enemies bowing down at his filthy feet.

Alas, how the toil and sweat fought and won
Days were dark, and memories burned in sun.
Gazing upward to touch, to feel, the fabric of life
Never more working, never living, nowhere to run.

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Lonely lives the cobbler.

Lonely lives the cobbler.

© 2021 Kenneth Avery

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