Occasionally people amaze with perception you’d not credit, like one old man who only ever swigs at the bar. Always in drinking haze, it’s most unlikely that he’d be first to recognise need, and quietly ignore masculine pride. Never without a beer pot in weathered hands, kindly he lay his usual want aside, selflessly, to offer a hug.
Sometimes disguised behind the ghostly faces, ash-greyed hair, in golden hearts caring spirits burst to flower.
This feels like its about someone that you know, H. You're absolutely right, books should never be judged by their covers, for we often do not know the soul within until we look a bit deeper. Loved the structure of this, you are able to say in a few short stanzas what would take me a book to say. Much enjoyed my friend!
Chairs thrown and tables toppled Hands armed with broken bottles Standing no chance to win, but We're not running, we're not running