Homeless
Across from Bryant Park,
at the corner of 43rd and 6th,
underneath several layers
of filth, a man, past all cares.
Alone in an altered reality,
his possessions in a cart,
he shuffles back and forth,
unheard, shoving his net worth.
Skirting his noisome presence,
deaf to empty threats,
I walk past, at a steady pace,
indifference masks my face.
A mask that carefully conceals,
terror at this Russian roulette:
Fleeting fortunes, sighs of relief,
and cart-borne lifetimes of grief.
at the corner of 43rd and 6th,
underneath several layers
of filth, a man, past all cares.
Alone in an altered reality,
his possessions in a cart,
he shuffles back and forth,
unheard, shoving his net worth.
Skirting his noisome presence,
deaf to empty threats,
I walk past, at a steady pace,
indifference masks my face.
A mask that carefully conceals,
terror at this Russian roulette:
Fleeting fortunes, sighs of relief,
and cart-borne lifetimes of grief.
Labels: poetry
Selected by Pragya |
19:05 |
4 Comments:
'terror at this Russian roulette:'
'and cart-borne lifetimes of grief.'
These two lines jumped out at me! The pathos and sense of helplessness brought out poignantly.
Lovely piece :)
Pincushion said it for me too! "Cart-borne lifetimes of grief" - VERY evocative!
hmmm... a very TRUE piece. A cultivated 'get thee behind me', borne out of terrifying fear of becoming something like dat. nice piece. ;-)
You're getting to me girl! Style and substance together - what else can one ask for? Also, at an emotional level - have donned that mask too often, however reluctantly - don't want to deal with those lifetimes of grief.
Post a Comment
<< Front Page