Lost and Found
He hobbled inconsequentially
like a stutter.
“Is that the way, young man?”
Red lines hung over a tree dripping
The doors were locked so he went
‘round the driveway.
Traffic on Wilshire Blvd. especially
No one’s home.
The sun was hot so he left
for greener pastures.
“After all, that’s where they end up,”
All the little crosses like confectionery
All the delicate blades of grass.
No one’s kneeling now.
It’s all just flat.
And he wept until the unforgiving sun went down.
“At last here I am,” he said.
Where he began, standing upright.
Looking into his dream,
A world perfect.
“I live on as I believe!” he hollered to the stars.
And unbeknownst to him he walked away
with the principles of freedom in his heart.