anonymous

You were tall and stoic and beautiful,
and you danced like a ragged angel.
In the reflection of the jagged light
on your torn jeans,
I saw everything wrong with me,
everything wrong with the world,
hate
despair
cynicism…

In your eyes I saw only peace,
peace and understanding.

This, you said silently, this is my lot in life.
What can I do?

And I have not cried for you,
because that was your lot in life,
and this is mine, but I will not forget you,
my unspeaking park-bench prophet.

I only wish I knew your name
so I could pretend this was for you.