No One Shaves the Barber

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I prowl alone, in endless silent paths
where flowers grow; their petals face the Sun –
the Sun i do not see. It does not shine
to light the darkness where my footsteps fall
my tracks erase; no ripples left behind.

The flowers that I pass, I water them –
my tears fall freely; no one hears the splash
as they are strengthened, then I go my way
And no one shaves the barber.

 I try to weed the gardens of their souls
tug gently on the festering guilts and shames
to free their roots to flourish as they may
but no one shaves the barber.

When I am gone, forgotten, I can pray
that someone else will tend these lovely blooms
and be as strong as I have tried to be –
for no one shaves the barber.

Life’s not in vain, and love is never less
when not returned; and if the void is all
that waits for me when I am finished here
then that oblivion, though not desired,
shall be my resting. Often I have felt
that somewhere there is joy, if not for me
if no one shaves the barber.

So now I say, if anyone can hear,
if anyone can care, as I have cared,
for troubled souls, for voices crying out
in loneliness and suffering, desperate need,
if anyone can summon up the strength
to walk as I have always walked, alone,
and tend their needs, their yearnings, as I have,
then please accept the tools, my gloves and rake,
my watering can, my heart they always break,
and help them, please, they never know
whose hand is reaching out to help them grow
accept you’ll never reap what you must sow
for no one shaves the barber.

— 10/12/2008 19:47 EST Sterling, VA

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