Jeremiah

In those eyes, I read a tale.
A tale of Jeremiah, flourishing in those autumn eyes
He was no bullfrog.
Nor man.
He was a secret that many knew and many kept.
He was a feeling that many felt and many met.
But they were not intrigued.
They were not impressed- or so they say.

Sweet Jeremiah knew of this
And continued his travels of spreading this bliss
And what a reputation to keep
To the middle of the newborn streets
The hand that touches both ends
From pity to health and from sickness to mend.

Dear Jeremiah was a blessing and curse
The world, not ready for such social disperse
So this sweet creature was hidden and kept
Behind the eyes of the honored…
Behind the eyes of the givers
The given, the grievers, the wealthy and the dead-
Behind the autumn eyes I look at now shed.

They tell a great tale that I share with you now
That feeling you know, that secret endowed
He is hidden.
He is abandoned.
He is forbidden and handed down.

He is the man on the street corner, clacking on his metal cup
He is the old woman in rags, never to give up
He is the newborn, unknowing of this cruel world
He is the path you might follow, unwinding and uncurled

The only being that you willingly go to
The light in the dark,
Sweet Jeremiah is you.