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Thursday, August 16, 2007

The Watchers

the homeless sit everyday
in the city's square;
a bitter-sweet drama
of others' glances averted
to the point of negligence
from their knowing eyes;

for these watchers
life is topless,
bottomless too,
hung at the gallows
of the present,

they've made acquaintances with nature,
asphalt is their marriage bed,
street acoustics sound out
truth in stark scales,

thoughts are simply a mat
across the hardened floors,
walked across every day
in the empty routine
of killing yourself,

there is no need to act;
they know all prey turns predator
in the street:
stray cats scream and bite,
answering late kindness
with bitter anger,

tiny faces with feral eyes,
they watch rowdy children
claim streets and alleys
filth from the sewers
fills the veins,
faces taunt, eyes loose,

knowing only the now,
the dreadful now
that numbs all knowledge
of the future
or the gifts of life,

and on that bench
the watchers sense
intangible as a stranger's pity
the cruel wisdom that
everything comes and goes,
including themselves.

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© CC License 2004-18. Unless otherwise stated all poetry, prose and art are the original work of the blog owner.