His stomach growled like a Lion salivating in front of his wounded prey.
Someone would be kind enough to grant me a plate,
Later on today…”
Didn’t have many ways to eat,
Nor have a chance to reach REM sleep in such a long time.
Hopping from a bench,
To the next,
Just asking for a penny,
Nickel or a dime.
Residing in the Lower East Side?
He only had one thing in mind…
Going back Home to step in front of a mic.
Showing packed shows how He writes up a line,
While feeling and reeling them in!
Dealing a rhythm in His,
Sealing a rigid Abyss I!
Knew He would escape,
An escape found through His love of Poetry,
Instead of flowing drinks!
Into my safe haven.
So tired I was of being slapped by His tears and gallons of beer,
As His Inner Child who has survived His excruciating pain and,
Flashing memories I was forced to see while trying my best to make Him,
I’m glad he did.
Within His story of victory,
There’s one thing left for us to confront.
Hope he’s more grown and mature than what he was back then,
Enough is enough!
No more hiding from a rewind preventing both of us!
To move forward…