TIN MAN
by: DON DAVID SCOTT
aka Archimendes
To you, this home may seem deserted
To you, this man may seem alone
Yet a gathering of ghosts line these walls
Buried securely within sharp pains of glass
A hearth fire always burns there
At the altar of his heart
Where the faces of hope keep turning
In a everlasting kaliedesope
The past, colored by tears and laughter
Fills every corner of each room
The present sets fire to his feelings
Like a torch in a just discovered tomb
He once sang siren songs of high ideals
But he never carried a tune for long
And those who set sail through his life
He left abandoned on many shores
One after the other, like shadow targets
In a shooting gallery
They passed by
Those impassioned spirits...
But his dark eyes chose to wander
And narrowed on the next target
Forcusing on a higher score
Leaving the one, looking for more
And--snap--one by one
The precious hearts in his life went down
Into the background shallows
Where they faced eyes as dead as glass
No. Life is not a circus.
And the human heart is no target
Yet, in his heart stands a gallery
Once brimming with life and dreams
Bright eyes, now dazed and distant
Warm feelings, chilled to ice
Hot passion, burned to charcoal
Lost love he keeps under glass.
© copyright 1996-1998 Don David Scott
