Hobo’s tale

A Hobo’s tale

 

I like, fat, acoustic guitars,

Their strings plucked gently in cantina bars

With singers notes cast to the stars

telling tales, often called yarns

 

Into the early morn they sing their songs

Till my eyes fail

Rest I do take

So that when I wake

To wide open western skies

I gaze upon my ceiling wherever I call my place

 

Today is filled with breaths

Held for time

Day screams son, let go, you’re done

You’re safe now and, you’re mine

 

I like walking along old train tracks

Wearing tattered blue jeans

Kicking stones to places unseen

Remembering those, and times gone by

Especially seeing one who, kissed the sky

 

I like what time I have

What life was had

What love I stole

What was taken from me

No matter that now

What was mine is yours

And I’ll be back

Soon, I think, to finish those chores

Hang on love, for ever more

 

I like a simple knapsack

A hobo’s stick

A weathered old cap

No clock, no watches tick

I’ll spend all mine

Go look at yours

There’s a freight train comin

Soon with a name on it

 

I need a wallet, too

that’s all for now, for this old fool,

But maybe just a little more

Like a really good song

To sing on the trip

Maybe I’ll float down the mighty Mississip

 

And grab times remembered

About what good times I surrendered

Like time lived, all mine

Joined by friends who passed this way

With me through, the hell and rain

 

I thank heaven above

My troubles at night that give such frights

are of a kind that die in the mornin light

 

I say, Come soon, come quickly the next day break,

Times a slippin

Come as sure as fast plains rain or a runaway train

 

So listen now, I hear it for sure

Words woven into whispers from above, is my cure

They soothe my soul from hard days won

They soothed my soul from hard days sun

 

This entry was posted in poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.