He wears city exhaust like a halo
Encircling his matted head
Glowing only when the lights go out
Only when beauty is bottomless dread
The kind that 's wound around his body
The regalest of robes
Misfortune clutched in the brown paper bag in his hands
A scepter for his cardboard box throne
The bottle necks bow before him
The lonely souls he keeps
Guarding them from fermented evils
Watching over them as they sleep
His wings they shine like daylight
Made from leftover love
From the shards of glass still smelling of
The whiskey bottle he died to get to the bottom of
Face like a dirty moon
Eyes sitting in vacant slots once white
Lips curled up in the after thought of a smile
Trying to find the stairway to get higher
Back to where he must belong
Before sainthood left him abandoned
Dwindling with each flap of his broken glass wings
Trying to dream his way to Heaven
Saint Bobby
Losing his grip on life Fastened securely as a hangnail He said"If I die beautiful, will that make me an angel?" This poem I wrote about a homeless man that I always see roaming the streets. Long story short my mom informed me that his name is bobby. Thus the title. How she knows this is a little too complicated for me to put here in this memo. Only because I am super lazy. ^.^ Pic is the beggar by wintersun from deviantart.comDid you like this poem? Write one of your own!
