At the end of a table,
an old man waits.
A calm silence in his eyes.
A bead of sweat rolls down his pale skin,
and drops quietly on the floor.
The old man shakes in his crippled age,
as he reaches for a glass.
He waits here at this table,
with an old cane at his side.
He waits here for the lost,
waits here for the confused.
To guide you through your journey,
through the passage of your mind.
The old man waits at that table,
with a gold key in his hand.
His eyes grow bloodshot,
as the old man waits.
In your head.
Author notes
A stange vision I had while on LSD. Interperate as you may.
A contest entry
- Gimme Your Imagination!! Give Me Your Descriptions! by Chocolate Chip.
650 points, ended October 2, 2008, 15 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
thanks for entering and goodluck in the contest!
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