Erstwhile Knocks Again

I see a ghost of a figure
a man tall of reddish
hair a growth abundant
Though ripened you he
isn't so

He claims compassion
a heart he owns
a love he says he knows
Though pain of loss
Bittered his soul

Eyes avert the purpose
of the wantons
of lustful hunts
Some meek longings
I suppose

They are dreary
tiring as they stare
On the low landings where
our feet
remain bare

And when the lids
become heavy with waters
Tiredly he lifts
his solemn world
Without seeing

I then watch to capture
the universe in those
eyes so drunken
Must I wonder
or say goodbye?

Mosaic (in) Marble

A facade on his ground
the tiles collected, inconsistent
it is his life in asymmetry

The colors change
shady to dark hue no
pastel save brightness in view

There feels a rough
cracked, caked stone
in each facsimile of form

Sometimes they mold
seldom parched to one's feel
In fact they cut and tear skin

Yet he encumbers for
those who step on these stones
They are marble with glory and form.