The Provincal Robbinhood

His name is that of a dead prince.

Though more princely in his manner
is he.
In kinesthetic eloquence
he glances back to see
the amaranthine shape of time
and death’s anonymity.

He gives more than he receives
the beautiful vagabond,
the prince of thieves.

He sleeps awake in lofty dreams
drafting books,
counting beans.
Graceful through what he perceives
as lonely past
and joyless schemes.

Patient always,
always, still.
With boyish charm and passion’s skill
he crafts philosophy and will
and carves a destiny
tyranny couldn’t kill.

O prince,
hero of obscurity,
I, so tragic and
moved by your purity
will keep your form
indelibly in my mind,
and when you go
to have your own
I’ll keep your heart
from weathering time.

The Provincal Robbinhood

ShadesOfBlue33

Joined October 2010

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Ok. So ads are taging my fucking poetry now…………

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