Special One

1 min readFeb 7, 2024
black bird or crow with wings upturned flying at the top right corner of an all white background
Patrick Hendry

A poem by Quinn Zhael

He was a special one
Staring down the barrel of a gun
He leaned against the wall
Expressionless; and me in thrall
I remember the pout
Of his lips and his clout
He was a beast
For me who ceased
Eyes glazed
Left me amazed

I put my hands
On his shoulders
Like sands
Crushed from boulders

Men’s hands built the world
But his mind is what thrilled
With his black wings unfurled
He built what he willed

He was a special one
Standing in the sun
Talked through his teeth
He let me beneath
The skin that holds him in
And let me hear the din
Of the monsters in his head
And the ferocious things they said
His way was “real cool”
Enough to keep me his fool

Yeah, he was a special one
And I just can’t let go of some




No Expert But Of Himself—Just writing what I know, a bit of what I think I know, hopefully I help others know a bit more than they knew.