supposedly stout, weathered,
having seen
anger, joy, bliss and death
quick to tear
quick to hurt himself
long before another
enclosed in a barrel chested
brute
behind hazel eyes, broken
man who, grateful for all
hurts some days, the scars
surreptitious, raw, one upon another
stockpiles doleful countenances
holding friends, distant, upon the ridge
lingering in a
shadowed valley, awash in insecurities
for an intermittent sun
to bring forth scarce smiles

© 2014 by DC Lessoway