Two Men Walkin'

 

Two Men Walkin'
Two men trudgin'
that sun-cracked road,
one dream-chasin',
one already old.
Cardboard suitcase,
smoke curlin' slow—
talkin' acres
like a joke no one told.We all reach for somethin'
too far, too bright.
Hands like mine—
scarred, cracked, unfit for light.
Still I see it burnin'
behind shut eyes:
white clapboard house—
then the dream dies.You meant no harm,
but it sticks like clay,
mud on boots
that won't flake away.
Big frame, soft voice,
childwide grin—
world pelts stones
at a mind too thin.We all reach for somethin'
too far, too bright.
Hands like mine—
scarred, cracked, unfit for light.
Still I see it burnin'
behind shut eyes:
white clapboard house—
then the dream dies.Is mercy kindness
or a loaded sin?
Quick trigger pull,
or slow rot within?
I held the photo,
drew the line in dust—
promised "someday,"
then tore his sky to rust.Two men set out,
only one limps home,
leavin' the story
in briars and stone.
If love snaps your spine,
loneliness grinds slow—
same heavy load,
just a quieter blow.