Gay

G a y

Three letter word;

So fitting and broad.

Dogmatic in its arches—

Sitting in the distance of the man; who wears his hat;

Bows his head; and winks his eyes.

Shoulder to shoulder he weeps.

Lifts his hands and wipes his tears.

Stranger in times of despair—on an endless road to repair.

Sunlight beams his pallid face. His shirt tattered in rigid pieces.

Bloodied memory of the distance ahead; false truths of the memory said.

He sits on the bench—his lips moved.

The deadly breeze whispered; his words fled:

Good Morning.