Beneath his Feet










The ground glows as the warmth of his spirit

is present in front of a marker of stone a sign

to me and promised before he left this plane for

a place on high among scribes who penned

his name in gold a long time ago.


His angel stood before the boy now a man with

one tear on its cheek to tell him that his father

was pleased and missed him like a father would

this man bows in silence listening as he whispers

to his soul and speaks to him in

words remembered so long ago of gentle heart

and kindness shown to this boy for

just being who he was a wet boy standing at

his door dropping rain from ragged clothes

given to him from charity Salvation Army stores.


So with heavy heart he says farewell as

depression sets in and cast its ugliness upon

him while he lingers under a spell that it put upon

his defeated darkened soul he hates himself

for being lost in comma by a trauma sent from hell.


Will he ever awaken from his twisted pass to find a

shining lamp to lead the way to safety and open up

a door of hope that won’t close so firmly in his face

with each attempt he makes to raise himself up.


He finds himself inside his mirrored reflection of his

beautiful mind that once was clear and brilliant but now

fogged up by the swirling mist hugging the shoreline

waiting to be lifted by the tides rolling

in from a mermaid’s breath.


Once he lived and loved and found a life worth

living and the music wine and beauty of the ladies

were forever present for this man who now is bent

and spent with a mind so confused and burnt

he is becoming mad.


Alone at night he tears his life in strips of colored

pieces tainted in shame by who he is and then awakens

from this dream dripping in Salvation clothes

wet from rain of so long ago.


© Copyright Vincent Moore 2010. All Rights Reserved.

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