I am the man from the picture
in the newspaper that you hold
which bears news of heartbreak and inexperience,
so comparable to your own life.
The births and obituaries on the same page,
which when turned could hold that secret tip
to the stock which will make you a millionare
You’re reading me, yet I can read you too,
I watch you silently
you read first through the comics,
then onto the news of wars
waged a thousand miles away,
your sigh echoes in my ears
as you rustle the pages back into their tidy pile,
wishing that the world could be straightened out
just as easily as the daily paper.
I stare at you, with eyes cold and black,
challenging you, just to keep reading,
keep looking for that article not about
death, disease, opposition or blatent lies,
just keep looking for that section of paper
that makes it all okay, and when you do,
I’ll be waiting right here,
until you can free me from my ink-prison
Posted by TheRedBantoo | | Email post 
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