Each Morning He Mourns

he shuffles about
in polished white sneakers
on dirty city sidewalks,

desire to belong
filling his weary mind,
overwhelmed by grief
of a life unknown
except within is dreams,
on a snowy Chicago day.

not even passersby
notice his eyes tearing
from the wind of his discontent,
washing over him
as he crosses over
to the other side
of the busy street.

a flash of her in his mind’s eye,
the warmth of her hand in his
with each step forward,
her name drips his lips
as he trips on the curb
of remorse.

She would raise him up,
if only he could let her
love him,
full in the Light.

3 thoughts on “Each Morning He Mourns

  1. “…if only he could let her…”

    “Could” really adds a different twist to the whole poem rather than “would” and it sure is a good one! Could = it’s beyond his control to let her; Would = it’s up to him

    Excellent poem.

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