Dawn

By Elvira

Unmoving, he stands in the dark,

wearing trousers made of filthy sheets,

covered by a threadbare blanket,

amidst icy trees, that glitter with colored lights.

He dances to keep warm,

                wearing a child’s knit cap, on the sidewalk

his malted hair

                sways back and forth back and forth

                keeping time, to an unheard song

Cars rush

                to catch the green light,

                                                                                inside

passengers talking about

                                                                                what?

Walkers tug their holiday fare

                running to catch the city bus

No one sees.

No on greets

                only sounds of crunching gravel

                communicates with the solitary figure

Some look, quickly,

                afraid to “catch” whatever drives his dance

The Plague? it would be easier to comprehend

Mental illness? aren’t there asylums, snake pits, enough?

We walk away

eyes blinded by the happy lights

ears deaf by “Santa Baby’s “

goodness  comes only seasonally

Infected with Neglect!

I could’ve helped

But YAHWEH

                                is still borned in the soul

                                letting those with

THE KEY

                                open

“the hurt locker” of the heart 

Unmoving, he stands in the dark,

wearing trousers made of filthy sheets,

covered by a threadbare blanket,

amidst icy trees, that glitter with colored lights.

He dances to keep warm,

                wearing a child’s knit cap, on the sidewalk

his malted hair

                sways back and forth back and forth

                keeping time, to an unheard song

Cars rush

                to catch the green light,

                                                                                inside

passengers talking about

                                                                                what?

Walkers tug their holiday fare

                running to catch the city bus

No one sees.

No on greets

                only sounds of crunching gravel

                communicates with the solitary figure

Some look, quickly,

                afraid to “catch” whatever drives his dance

The Plague? it would be easier to comprehend

Mental illness? aren’t there asylums, snake pits, enough?

We walk away

eyes blinded by the happy lights

ears deaf by “Santa Baby’s “

goodness  comes only seasonally

Infected with Neglect!

I could’ve helped

But YAHWEH

                                is still borned in the soul

                                letting those with

THE KEY

                                open

“the hurt locker” of the heart

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