My115thDream

Poem - "Hands of Gold"

He dreams with his hands and taps his feet,
Gracefully gliding over the beat,
Waiting for the right moment to set sail,
Pulls up the anchor and lets out a wail.
Released from convention,
Free from intervention
To keep him from finding
The searingly blinding
Light that he's trying to hold.
Truly a legend untold,
He captures it and holds on tight,
Glowing with surreal neon light,
And he knows he can't fall.
But still there's a wall
He just can't climb,
Maybe only a matter of time
Before he decides this world's too cold
For a poet with hands of gold.
But not just yet,
For now he won't let
His ideals go down the drain.
He'll stand alone in the rain,
Dreaming of multitudes coming to see
While he captures the light, then sets it free.