No Better way
He used to sandpaper the tips
of his fingers until they
caught no silk.
He brushed his teeth,
then he combed his hair,
parted it on the wrong side.
Forty-five years
and three hundred and sixty days
he still has no better ways
to say, 'I love you'.
He goes for walks around the pasture
by the pond and up the bank
and past the dead pine tree
struck by lightning
whose branches have fallen off
and lay around the ground
He walks by without a sound
wishing he could walk on and on.
His soul walks by without a sound.
poem by Midnights Voice
Added by Poetry Lover
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