It's madness, pure insanity.
Can't you feel it?
The air is eerie.
I smell the dirt.
My heart sinks to the bottom of the ocean.
I feel ill.
I was sheltered.
I was safe.
Until I felt it.
I had no choice, you told me not to look.
My stare would be like eating off "The Fruit of The Tree of The Knowledge of Good and Evil"
I looked.
And I saw:
That under the full moon, laid a child so cold.
Its mother, I assumed, had clung to the child.
They sat on the pavement.
So cold...
Is this why, we were not to look?
As people pass, so do I.
The mother wails, her sadness apparrent.
Nobody cares.
Nobody dares look down.
I'll never know if the child and its mother, made it through the cold night.
I will have to live with that.
But, if you ever DARE walk past a scene like this, your soul belongs to hell.
No money needs to be paid to the beggar, but an aknowledgement of a fellow being is all that is needed.
Even a simple "hello".
YOU ARE READING
Flawed Portrayal
PoetryI Write For Myself, To Vent. This Might Not Make Sense. So, Read At Your Own Pleasure.
