The Meeting
From amidst the flies bewildered there
Where his hands rummage the dirty scraps of waste
He lifted pleading eyes without a tear
And brought the putrid scenting meat to meet his taste
I would have turned from it and looked away
Would have told him stop, or even pray
But against my eyes others lined the pall of day
That webbed me pining in the raw decay
There is a humanity that make us cleave
In the ebb and flow of others' fortune in the earth
A dismal tear to shed when others grieve
The wine of elation to drink for others' mirth
And something more wretched than impotence of hope
Assails the heart where tyrants subjugate the poor
And men daylight through Egypt's night still grope
Against a cold, and shuttered door.
I saw him with pity, he saw me with contempt
Perhaps because of something demeanor or manner did not say
Should I have yelled, 'don't think me exempt
From debacle consuming us, from life's disarray
I found no voice to tell my pain, but tolled my chain
And walked away into the havoc of slanting rain
Through wet streets and water rushing to a clogged drain
I let it soak me, if only to dilute the pain.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2010
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