Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

A fedora and suspenders,
White shirt and tie.
He sits at his desk
Like some old private eye.
He searches for truth
In a world of lies.
Counting the ways 
That his soul has died.
He's felt the yearning,
Felt the pain.
Listened to his heart
And fooled his brain.
All of it trickles out
In words and verses insane,
Nothing lasts forever, 
Not even the rain.
His words become weapons,
His verses become rhymes.
He fires them off like bullets,
And hits the mark every time.
Read his lines with clarity, 
You'll see what truths he finds.
His words will speak to your soul,
If, only, you give him the time.
-jonsimpson