About homeless people and how passers by look through them….as if they were glass.
I am not glass
Though I could touch your coat from this place where I sit,
beneath you on the street, amidst the debris,detritus and grit
and endless passing feet,
I am not here, glimpsed as ‘something’ on your vision’s edge,
‘something’ or other, you’ll from deep memory never dredge,
but always try to smother.
I shed tears thinking about what I once was and what I am now,
my silent tragic tale, as you pass with haste and furrowed brow,
no mercy to avail.
Though you are soon gone my misery is eternal, never ceases,
though you pass, and I’m left in fragmented shards and pieces,
I am not glass.