People just keep goingAround, across, Any way they can.Directionless,They do not notice the manWho motionless,Waits. They step over me, Their limbs stretching usefullyEven as they
Unclean,I hide myself.Lest I am seenAnd sent away,Purged from the cityWhile dogs and rats are allowedTo stay and hide in its alleys, Infect its crevices.
As so often happens, life took priority over poetry. Indeed, I fear this is one of the reasons I am not destined to be the
My bones ache with hunger.My eyes strain from seeking.But seeking what? Waiting for what?For nothing,For who would help me today?This is the sad irony of
In studying the Gospel of Mark in college, I was struck by the recurrent use of the word “immediately” and turned to poetic reflection. Now,
Sweet “Stille Nacht” is but a prayer;No silent night was this, When angel hosts announced on highThe birth of God with Us. Holy, yes, but