On the Corner...

She used to stand there on the corner
like a poem with no writer
like a scream,like a whisper
Wild and shy
Soft and dry
every Sunday at midnight
among the crowd it felt so quiet
she used to be alone
but he was there
a street magician from everywhere
black eyes and dark hair
holding tenderly his guitar
and flying his mind in a wheelchair
In her eyes he saw his dream
In his silence she heard him scream
invaded by this deep sadness
he wished to conquer her savage madness
tuned it all to his guitar
closer she became than the winking star
she heard his heart moaning his song
smiled at him and turned around
Their eyes met in one glance
two hearts set in no chance
he watched her leave the street corner
she never heard his longing whisper
He knew she ll never be back again
He knew there are other faces of pain
people said he became insane
waiting every Sunday night
holding his guitar so tight
imprisoned in his paralyzed mind
his heart was free
tying her memory to the moving wheelchair.