(In my Arsenio Hall voice, a poem that make you say hmmmm!) The loneliest man in the world lives in a bubble Where he feels safe and out of toil and trouble Away from love and emotional rubble He finds security from being his own devoted couple The loneliest man in the world feels free To fly like a butterfly from she to she To indulge in the pleasures that come by be Untied, unbridled, independent indeed The loneliest man in the world shares a part Without even knowing of his own heart Each time he makes love like passion, like art Painting hundreds of portraits, he’s making his mark The loneliest man in the world is convinced That drive to love is better shaved and minced Like a deadly fruit that should first be rinsed Before consuming a piece and only a pinch The loneliest man in the world was a boy Once upon a time living life so coy Letting love fill hid heart with motion and joy Only to discover it would kill his poise So now the loneliest man in the world says bye To yet another of his portraits another man did buy Another piece of his heart he’ll fight, he’ll try To ignore the wounds made fresh inside On to the next portrait he moves As a fresh canvas moves into his grooves The loneliest man, he paints, he proves That he dines from a vast of array of fine foods But what he denies each and every time Is that painful feeling inside that I’m The loneliest man in the world and I’m Like a deceptive poem whose final never rhymes
Posted on: Fri, 27 Sep 2013 00:39:25 +0000
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