Brown and Grey and Black

I saw him sit against a wall

He never ever moved at all.

His eyes were closed, his breath was slow.

Was he awake? I never know.

His feet are narrow and are tall.

The color of the sand in fall

When it is stained, more dark than light.

His soles are tan, his skin is white.

He sat with legs extended out

In front of him, which brought about

The strangest sense of jealousy;

He was more pliable than me.

Against the wall his back was straight

His slender legs - he never ate -

Seemed unattached to his body

Stretched out in flexibility.

His clothes were simple, brown and grey

And black, like night, but unlike day.

His hat, however, was in blue.

A streak of orange, a lighter hue.

Beneath the brim - well worn and frayed -

Dark bangs, left-sweeping, were displayed.

And tufts of black swept up behind

His ears and neck, and brought to mind

Dark eyelashes against his cheeks

In silent thought - he never speaks -

And eyebrows, darker, thicker still,

Like frost upon a window sill.

Behind those lids are pools of brown,

A broken heart, a soul cast down.

He sits, unable to disclose,

And hurts, and hurts, and no one knows.