Waiting for Faceless Name

Sir Youth hunches over a stiff cane,
Wandering through a busied crowd.
Nameless faces bounding by,
Swarming from obssession to possession.
His boyish grin is stolen in the air.
Unloved by the ants,
Scattering away from a fallen biscut.
Bones start to creet at standing still.
The breeze will not bring in the faceless name
Sir Youth is a watchman for.
Poets of old whisper "Soulmate" to him.
Eyes see his wimpering desire,
Caring not for the mystery inside.
Immaturity begs him to stop an ant.
A small connection builds a bridge between their antenna.
Maturity blows a hole in that bridge
As awkward words flush his face.
Singled out nameless face moves on,
Willing the wind to carry it away.
Sir Youth creeps back into the shadows
And breathes out hope for the future.
Cracking bones are comforted against cold bricks.
The structure holds his body up.
Shaking knees want to give in,
Melting him into the sidewalk
Nameless faces can then walk on Sir Youth.

Only Faceless Name can lift him up.