Wednesday, November 16, 2005

An Old Poem of Mine (circa. 2000)

The Wandering Jew

I wash the dried salt and saliva from my face,
I hope the scent of my sin will wash away,
I look out the window,
And see the world by night,
Pastel designed in mellow moods and tragedies,
Stars sing of memories,
Backdropped by late night ghetto fm melodies,
Harking to age old malodies,
I search the sky for a north star,
And wonder if the stories are true,
Is there really a wandering jew.

Yannick Nesta Pessoa
Copyright (c) Yannick Nesta Pessoa (MMV)

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