Sometimes...
when the day is dying and the sun's rays grow dim;
sitting under polluted masses of steel and concrete tinged a hasty black;
listening overhead to the rythmic thumping,
as cars unobtainable pursue their passions;
while helpless grass wilts from unrelenting brown;
and debris continues its march to God only knows;
in a world that's already decided where it wants to go;
and you know you could die and pass into the wind with nary a sigh;
and though you can see them they never see you;
when the words of others fade into gibberish;
till sound turns to silence;
and you realize time comes when death knocks at your door;
and you wonder if you were ever here at all;
thoughts of pyrrhic victories drift through your open mind;
remembering the hands you longed to touch but never dared;
and you let in a little feeling to bring the cleansing tears;
you see the world around you but the world is never yours...
sometimes, you are truly alone.
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Darla Carmichael
OS Weekend Fiction Club
rmgosselin
Writer to the Stars
emma peel 2
Mission
Salon.com
Comments
It's the lack of ever feeling safe that ages the homeless the most. You are truly on your own.