A Search Beyond Truth

Untitled Poem

After a day of hustles and bustles,
A lazy hour and some thorny chuckles,
I come to you, the gory locks,
A scrawny face, that stares and mocks,
All my shriveled, thriving seeds of being,
And an old guy with his tambourine,
Comforts and drives the pain away,
Front and back, I tilt and sway,
All the days of the fleeting joy,
Silly dreams of a silly boy,
Scarred 'neath a painted face,
Hail o mother and her holy grace.
I still cry as I think of those eyes,
The torrid rain, unspoken goodbyes,
Some broken words, and a shattered heart,
Hears a ring, and gives a start.
I recall a memory that was never there,
The half written poem lies lost somewhere.