i’ve lost count…

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.


15 thoughts on “i’ve lost count…

  1. 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


  2. 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.


  3. 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?”

  4. 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.

  5. 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..

  6. 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.

  7. 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…

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