Bukowski

In his absolute mind life's no longer realised
In the madness behind his eyes
There's the sorrow the sadden heart
The wrinkles and the lines
All you see in the dim light
People like him dance alone
Live and laugh all on their own
In bravery they don't believe
Like a child that hide its needs
A secret space in which they stay
To weep and write their hatred and dismay
With blinded eyes and wounded souls
They claim they "saw it" and "know it all"
A 'man of the people' a 'work to admire'
From a full mouthed open liar
In his absent mind death is realised
A man, a silent heart
A body dumped in the dark.