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Non Arriving Guest

If you had just once
been revealed in physical form
by the meagre fire
on one frozen Christmas night,
near the tramps den
then you would have made friends
with the true spirit of yourself,
shook your own wounded hand,
drunk methylated wine,
eaten broken hearted bread.
Just like Godot they did not remain,
trampling ash blackened cans
into the flames of burnt soles,
whispering "Too long, too far,
that distant star, beyond the pearly gate."
Then away they'd go, swaying,
in search of tomorrows home,
always arriving too late.

15 Dec 10

Rated 9 (9) by 2 users.
Active (2): 9, 9
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(define the words in this poem)
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i would say 'always arriving too late' with the last line.

 — unknown

Yep ...maybe
 — larrylark

nice poem.  methinks the commas are not needed at 2 & 4
and I concur-
line 18 could be tightened just a bit.
the rest is bravo worthy.
 — JKWeb

Hi Larry,
really nice poem!

Tripping a little on line 8. Just the word laden. Would it be less of a mouthful just as 'wounded'

Nice poem,
thanks for the read,
 — PollyReg

Thanks Jk...your input is both appreciated and acted upon
 — larrylark

Thanks for the spot Pollyreg
 — larrylark