another soul
another language
the same human misery
a darkened doorway
gilded with childish dreams
not of gold
but of a silver lining
now tarnished
by the acidic reality
that death is more
than the grave
it is sitting on a street corner
begging to breathe hope’s vapor
smoking discarded butts of existence
becoming a belligerent drunk
screaming at what fate has given
cursing death
for its
late arrival
This poem was inspired by a post by my friend Cindy (http://theonlycin.wordpress.com/2010/8/15/repost-her-name-is-monica/) I was a bit tearful when I finished reading her post and knew that I could not write anything right away…but wanted to release some of the emotions…so here it is …a mental release so that I can sleep tonight. Please visit Cindy’s site and see the inspiration for this poem.
Read Between the Minds 
And in turn, I too am all choked up by this.
Thanks my friend.
I’m glad you felt burdened to write this.
I am reminded of an article that is long overdue that I must write about street kids – the forgotten/ abused populace of the big cities in our world
Thanks
Sadly, the story is all too common in South Africa. I became aware of it when I found a man rifling through my bin for food, and falling on mouldy stew like it was a feast. It’s why, when our situation changed, I was (and am) so grateful to be living in Britain, imperfect as things are.
http://thelaughinghousewife.wordpress.com
Cindy seems to have covered all human emotion/disgust/dispair. Well constructed
words to feed the soul. Thank you for sharing it!
as always you cut to the chase, but the final lines
cursing death
for its
late arrival
really drive home the hopelessness and despair
This is very good,slpmartin
tells so much about the world…
Human condition…and more
Thank you for sharing,
Peace to you, and the World
Laz
you are so very true my dear friend.
very well done — I recognized Cindy’s story immediately
I went and read the story behind it… it reminded me of a couple outreach trips I took with the youth group I was leading last year. We went to Boston and saw many people living in horrible conditions. Their stories just break your heart. I always think, “What if that was me? What if that was my little brother or sister?”
I always felt that death lurks around street corners, too… not in the dark, not in graveyards, always around streetcorners. Some people are afraid of crossing the street. I’m afraid of turning round the corner.
Hmm… how the once-decently-happy are now converting to wasted-souls!
It’s like a new religion – called Detriment
A very poignant read… brought vivid images to my mind..
Thank you. We should constantly remember that no one – no one – is any less full,any less a life, than we ourselves are.
I have not read Cindy’s piece, but will now.
“cursing death
for its
late arrival”
Another masterpiece from you… am tired of praising you… so wont write much… I will just say :well done buddy..
It’s wonderful for people to share their thoughts and feelings.
heartbreaking. when I visit my brothers in Chicago I’m always gripped with a wrending compassion for the homeless there…and yet, even as I ache to found some sort of half way house to shelter them in, I wonder if that simple love and care is enough to truly heal them. after so many years on the streets, I think that world-weary complacency stains them down to their bones…