Me Or You
With tattered coat and mangled soul,
I sit.
On cold concrete, and shadowed streets,
my pit.
My soiled hands extended out, my voice
cries, "A dime?"
My wandering eye peers out to them
in time.
They rush, ignore, but know they see
the crumpled me.
The city blazing with noise and motion
and activity.
Steam from beneath billows through
the crowd.
Taxis, limos, trucks with their calls
so loud.
Can no one stop? Can no one see
the blessing?
They are so lucky. So ever free,
but missing?
Missing what's the point of our being.
Our existence.
Able to do, and live, and be
without resistance.
Able to send one simple act my way.
to fray...
One cost of one meal, one bill, one drink
today?
Ah, if only I could be so true as to
be you.
Would that I could show such a
kind act or two.
Or would I too walk on?
The world rushes by, my heart cries
my spirit blue.
For I hear it clearly...but wait...
...or is that you?
Copyright © David Brooks | Year Posted 2016
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