He arrived early he wore a black
Sweater with gray sweatpants, he seemed
Tried as if he just arrived back from war,
But there he sat in a booth further from
The window listening to music and a
Notebook spread open wide, a black
Pen in his hands, seemed that he was writing
Poetry, not caring but time seemed to have
Paused around him, like hitting the pause button
On a movie so you don’t miss out on the
Good parts, the parts of the movie that
Will fill you with love and warmth
I sat in front of him, and didn’t
Stop his train of thought, like a feather
His hands moved the pen swiftly across
The page, the page already containing
10 lines under less than a minute, when
He finished he lifted his eyes to greet mine,
A smile lifted from his face, the smile was
Filled with warmth that could go on for
A mile, a smile that relaxes the body and
Says softly when you walk in through
The front door ‘Welcome Home’
He ordered a latte with extra sweetener,
That seemed to soften his smile, his eyes
Told a different story, the story of his soul
That has ridden through every rough patch
On his road, a soul that seemed that had been
Kicked onto it knees but refused to stay
Down and crawl, but like the sun
He rose like a warrior, a warrior
That has put on it’s amour and went
On the attack, and wore his heart
On his shoulder, and put his words
Into action
Action that put his world in
motion, his writing became his
Voice, the voice of the heart that
Grew up to quickly, but grew like
A flower in full bloom of spring,
Alongside the songs of the early
Morning birds and the sound of the
Flapping wings of the hummingbird,
Like a praise reaching as high as the heavens
I ordered the same thing as his, but with
No extra sweetener, we sat there he began
Talking the song on his heart, a song that
Looked for a better world, a world that
Sounded so far-fetch but sounded right, he
Moved on telling me about the endless love
Letters he has written for his future forever
Love, love that his heart keeps pumping for
No price at all, I sat there wondering how
Could he pump out so much love so freely?
Then it fell on me his heart doesn’t know hate,
And hate doesn’t know it; his heart takes every
Wound and pumps love out of it not caring if it
Gets damaged, cause that heart is not broken, or
Healed but a beautiful work of disaster
He rambled on how every love letter, has built
Castles even on the roughest plains, or uneven
Ground, he built libraries that are grand out of
Just pure words, words that create a
Simple song of a hollow tune, A world
Like no other, his place of play and peace
Where a few is allowed in, in to discover
A place where beauty and ugly come together
To form a more perfect image of his own
Creation
His smile grew a little bit brighter, he
Seemed happy to share his world with
Anyone who would sit down and listen, a
World that may sound crazy but it’s a
World so ideal for his own mind, A world
That has become his fig tree, a tree he will
keep alive till his dying days, then he pointed
To his heart and spoke these words-
My heart is my soul, my soul is my heart, and nothing will pull me
From its grip, for where these two things are a kid dreamed from,
And as long as that kid is dreaming, and writing, I to shall dream and
Write
I met myself for coffee at 10am, the sun has lowered
And we splitted ways, I leave knowing me and him
Will always fight on for the kid within, within looking
Up at the moon and saying “Here I Come”
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