I see him over there ‑
he’s standing in a corner scared.
His feelings are well hidden ‑
himself is as smiley & happy as can be.
When things go wrong he’ll
smile it down ‑ Is he a mental clown?
He has no idea where he goes
sometimes he just doesn’t know.
I see him crying ‑ he’s confused.
He walks the dark allies of
his mind looking for feelings
he doesn’t want to find.
Understand he’s not sure
why a hurricane has hit
His mind – feelings askew
yet there’s so much new.
There he goes, he is running
now ‑ shadows chasing him
but there not there. Or so it
seems ‑ he’s not sure &
he can’t tell.
He hides himself unlike
anyone else ‑ I see from
where I stand. His evils
are his own no other mans.
Richard Cory once his
friend turned & ran instead.
I feel for his tormented
soul ‑ He is being chased
by goblins, ghosts, & ghouls of
his own.
His dreams haunt him
no matter where he goes.
to him, from where I sit,
he feels he’s in a torture pit.
I sit down to laugh ‑ because of
him I see myself.
I look inside & see him
laughing at me ‑ at us;
I walk inside.
I face myself and so does
he ‑ we look inside
& We can’t hide.
It’s time to face
them and turn us around.
wil becker
1992
