Self Portrait

He was the kind of man who struck many people as an interesting, others as just odd,

He had his own way of speaking, some times in riddles or codes that only he understood  sometimes in poetry, sometimes in metaphors sometimes in just plain nonsense he disguised as normal conversation,

But he always laughed and give it away,

Sometimes he would get wound up and speak of other dimensions,

And the giant beasts he sees sleeping just beyond the thin curtain of  reality,

He liked to speak of things born in the imagination and molded into words appropriate for this world

He liked to use layered speech when he would speak a phrase that had several layers.

A meaning on the surface the dance of conversation but living within that phrase or that conversation,

He liked to scatter through wisdom, profound words that will echo in their minds as they  part ways,

Only because he want to plant a seed in their mind that will grow a garden in place of misery,

It can flourish if they remember  to water it and tends to its needs it will keep them fed,

He was a strange sight to see walking down the street. On his head he placed his black fedora except for at blue ribbon wrapping the hat just above the brim,

He wore a short sleeve white button up dress shirt and tie with that painting of the dogs playing poker,

He wore pin striped dress pants with a matching suit coat and of course, sunglasses to hide his eyes,

Looking in a person's eye can show you things about a person he would just rather not know,

He already knew more than he wanted to about the world, He always wished he could be dumb,

Walk through each day unaware of anything but the whistling in your own head,

The Andy Griffith theme if he  had to guess.

He has a grizzly beard like that of a mountain man and his hair is getting shaggy,

He wears black rimmed glasses that have a tendency to slip down to the tip of his nose,

So when he looks at you he dips hes head and peers over the top of his glasses,

When he walks he takes a slow steady pace. Leaning on the cane with each step,

He is in no hurry to get anywhere.He will arrive at his destination eventually,

You could see him coming, hobbling his way toward the door with a cigarette in his mouth,

But mostly he stayed out of the world. He stayed home and kept to himself,

He still put on a suit and tie and placed his fedora on his head. Looking good for himself,

So that he could feel a little better about himself,

He was a sad and lonely man; never very good at meeting new people,

It was because he always became nervous and usually sat with the group in silence,

Fascinated by what alcohol could do to intelligent conversation ,

Watching how it changed each person;

Some got happy and hyper an laughing, joking around, or it can throw you into, depression,

get you,

take advantage,

Like some poor girl in an empty hotel room waking up nude her clothes all crumpled up and strewn across thorough the whole room,

The previous night is coming back on her slowly like as you wake up from a nightmare,

Those days were over for him though.He didn't get out much but still would on occasion.

When he did he owned one tuxedo so he puts that on along with one of his nicest hats,

Grabs his cane and realized that he was free,

No more hospital gowns or IV's or spoken down too by uppety doctors  and nurses.

No this man was fed up with everyone's judgements of him without knowing who he was,

The nest rude person would catch a cane to the head,

The world may be trying to kick his a*s like the subject of a blues song,

But he just kept walking down the path in front of him,

Not paying attention to anyone who may be watching,

When he was tired he'd sit down and rest but most of the time he pushed on,

One foot in front of the other, one step after the the other,

No matter the weather sunny or rain.

He kept walking leaning on that cane,

No idea where he was headed but determined to get there,

Slowly making his way toward the horizon.