Knuckles

His knuckles are bruised
from swinging at anything that moves
and he can’t see what’s left behind
in the cages of his tormented mind
but from here I can see
everything he can be
everything he means to me
He’s back in the ropes twisting to shame
waiting all day in Life’s line for his name
lighting a flame that doesn’t want to burn
but it don’t work like that
we all have to learn
the mysterious ways
this world of ours turns

because around here everyone smiles when the
sun comes down to talk for a while
guess who comes to chase him away
and grins in the night before we start another day
he’ll rise raising fists to the sky in finding
another way
So this world of ours groans on
in admiration of the scholar
who ignores the clocks
temptations as he starts growing taller

pure in his core
but lost in wanting more
No use in asking for anything back
the world don’t listen like that
He’s standing tall against the earth’s wide eyes
ear pressed up to his souls loud cries
shouting out to prophesies falling from the skies
and listening to exhausted sighs of a life waiting by.