He was a hulking man
With a voice edged with authority,
Body parts designed for hostility,
And narrowed eyes that awakened
In the distance I hear a clang,
It’s the tin man.
The unmoveable man;
Feet sunken so deep into the ground,
That he could feel the worms slithering around
But still chooses to stay.
A white wall that hears but never listens,
Was he too much of a man to show compassion?
Were these hands incapable of loving,
What is love if it’s not given?
I heard that the dead lie in graves,
So I dig and dig,
Only to find,
That the man I wanted him to be
Never really existed.