The unknown poet

‘We have no time to stand and stare’ ~ the tramp poet so quietly shares…

The street poet’s faceless form roams walking sidewalks alleys in rhythm

speaking unheard grace worrisome pace time a waste eyes chaste

his rightfully unwritten story in sequence to unfolding rhymes his glory

walking standing and staring the unknown poet eats his empty fill alone

and solitude is his fare baring his soul sharing whispers and chills in cold

night air and trampled yellow flowers in morning light when over there

he gets the last word speaking his silent rant surviving another dreadfully

quiet night which is the only thing he rightfully earned in a peaceful zone no one else

with a solid roof over his head will ever understand that only the nothingness of

loneliness brings this unknown quiet roaming man a hardened wooden bench with a

custom made chiseled quote as his only comfort in the still of his sacred solitary night.