Jeffrey Hull

Looking down above the city,
   Bustling proles and hoi polloi,
Faded collars hot and gritty—
   Stands the super paperboy.

Never was some stupid yokel,
   No, the man who says what is;
Cosmopolitan, yet local—
   Wasn't he the big news whiz?

Not some product of the play-schools
   Of more ordinary men,
Topped his class at A-grade J-schools—
   Saved the world with mighty pen!

Fantasized of fame and prizes,
   Wrote his novel on the side;
One too many compromises
   Gently greased his downward slide.

Long he views the surly skyline,
   Every dream so long gone bust;
Hacking out his dreary byline
   All he sees is grime and rust.


© 2008 Jeffrey Hull

I framed a face of patience
   'Til patience was my name;
Though bathed in good opinion
   Impatient just the same.

I took the hue of honor
   And dyed a princely gown
To wear while out parading
   My fraudulent renown.

I mimed a touch of kindness
   As if it were my own,
Yet crouched in shame behind my
   Dissembling heart of stone.

Then cried my twisted spirit,
   Then moaned my black, black heart:
I yearned to love within me,
   Not pantomime the part.

And in a blessed moment
   A fair grace murmured low
An all-forgiving whisper
   As soft as falling snow.

Thus bare of all pretension,
   My armor stripped away,
I wept for my salvation
   And bowed my head to pray.


©2008 Jeffrey Hull