There’s a myriad
Of poems to be written
About the entrancing mystery
Of a lovely girl’s lonely eyes,
The delicate sweet sadness
They softly reflect
In a streetlight’s sympathetic glare
Off a busted sidewalk’s
Rainy teardropp puddle.
I’m the harmless and meaningless poet
Of golden bracelets and vanished dreams,
The melancholy chronicler of feminine wrists
He can no longer kiss.
Certain milk-white shoulders
Just within reach
Look like home
And the perfect place to cry
Like the Patriarch Joseph
When he fell into the arms of Benjamin and wept
After revealing to Benjamin
He was his long lost older brother.
Uriah Hamilton
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-perfect-place-to-cry/
