Big Man

msquared's picture

[This poem's different from my usual schtuff, but me likes it. It's some pretty powerful stuff...]

Just sitting there,
Not a word to my lips,
Not a fist to my fingers,
Big man,
Black hair and scruffy cheeks,
Collar popped but
I didn’t hear it,
Speaks a language
We can both understand—
Sights aligned for
A freckle of time,
I swear I can see
Winter in blue eyes.
His feet continue
To find their nature,
And walk,
Walk to better atmosqueer,
While I reap my silence.
Where you going, big guy?
And why so fast to get there?
I guess some other fags
Might need some Jesus, too.
Your motives are
A little hazy,
And my tear-shot eyes
Slightly blurry, too,
But this reality’s
As clear as autumn skies.
You hate me, don’t you,
Big man with denim eyes?
You’d make me illegal
If you could,
Or even better,
Make me dead,
If blood did wash with water.
You’d make me sorry,
You’d make me cry,
You’d make me see
With devilled eyes,
You’d make me worthless,
You’d make me vile,
You’d make me pray
To empty skies.
But that, big man,
I will not do.
You can spit your angry lies,
You can lash like senseless lightning,
You can beat your stale rhythms
On my bruised and battered skin,
And I will win.
For what are fists
But open hands, closed?
And what is hate,
But love in hibernation?
Your philosophies are flawed,
And I hope you really know.
So big man,
Cool man,
Tough man,
Mad man,
Keep on walking—
Freedom finds
Its children in time.