Tin Man (Suburban Tales Pt 1)

This morning
I passed you on the landing,
you seemed distant and small.
You smiled, absent minded,
lost in your world of fast money
and days of grey,
lit by the dying suns
you count among your own.

I listened
to sofa-box speeches.
Watched the blood
drain from your face
as big wins paled
into small victories.
Felt your stone skin shrink
when small victories
became keeping your head
above water.

You stalk your den. A lion caged
and toothless from gnawing
on the brittle bones of regret.
You wear the nature of your tragedy
in rainbow coloured ribbons,
a diffraction of hope
pinned to your breast.

You open your heart
and share the emptiness,
unselfishly.
My hollow messiah,
breaking the crust
of ten thousand stale moments,
to feed your hungry fears.