Ghosts
You feel them more that see
them
They inhabit the great divide
Trapped in a parallel nightmare
Of lost dreams and being
unemployed.
They eat in highway rest stops
Where food is fast and hot
Then hurriedly wash in
bathroom sinks
Ashamed of being caught.
At night they sleep on our
beaches
Wrapped in ragged dirty
shrouds
But they vaporize in the
morning
Unseen by vacationing crowds
These people are our neighbors
Regardless of address
Yet they walk unseen among
us
In exiled loneliness
Where do they fit in our
system
In this land of the brave and
the free
Walking ghosts in tattered
coats
They belong to you and me.
That means you and me the
people
They are our sisters and our
brothers
I read somewhere in an
ancient
book
Do unto me as you would to
others.
Copyright © Joe Murphy | Year Posted 2014
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