A Broken Man

I found New York

In the eyes of a man

Broken and alone

 

I watched

Silent

As the broken man filled his rain boots with tears

 

The broken man strummed

His faithful guitar

Water running down his back

 

I found New York

In the broken man’s broken hands

As his melodies filled Central Park

With a dream

Reviews

[Taylor_McCutcheon]

This is beautiful. Wonderfully written. I think the spacing could be fixed but the words are fine,

[fireblossom]

Yeah. I've seen him slouched on a subway bench sleeping off a drunk, an empty bottle of hooch at his side. I have pictures of him. One day he woke up and defined the city with vomit.

I like him better as a broken man playing in the park. Your poem reminded me of days roaming Manhattan. It is lean and lonely and truth. Well done.

By the way as I took those pictures a cellist played Bach not twenty feet away.

[Tim Schultz]

This is gorgeous, Emily. The first stanza is especially powerful. You have solid imagery.

I feel like this is a poem you could make longer if you wish. I think it would be stronger if you added an extra stanza or two, to better connect stanzas 2 and 3. Perhaps add a bit more of his appearance: is he a well dressed broken man, or a rag-wearing broken man? Is Central Park and his guitar all he has? What is your character's reaction to him? What part of the human condition is broken in this man? These are just a few ideas.