Thursday, March 3, 2011

Poetry in Motion

As part of my therapy, I write a lot. On the blog, off the blog, poems, of things I see, hear, touch, taste, and feel.
I hope you'll enjoy...


To think that in a small way I hold his destiny in the palm of my hand.
He looks like there is nothing he can do or say.
begging for a small token, a dime, a quarter, a penny.
Anything that will enable him to move on.
Dirty, cold, haggard, despised by all that see him.
In the warmth of my car,
at a red light I see his face
and then mine
and all the pain that he feels, in the split second it takes for it to turn green.
I move along
like the herd, but feel for him.
I could have handed an outreached hand,
a bill, folded and neatly pressed.
Instead I decide that time is pressing and I have no time to stop.
He has all the time in the world.
The clepsydra, the solar quadrant, the sun and moon are the only ticking devices
that define what his world is.
Nothing else matters in the grand scheme of things.
He haunts me.
I could have, should have stopped.
Volition that was unaccomplished.
His despair seeps through his body and soul,
and I feel it still today.
Why didn't I help?


Virgnia said...

Why didn't I help...
Why don't all of us help?? Beggars are invisible, challenged families are invisible, we see what we can handle, the rest goes unobserved...
the fact that you write your blog, to allow others to share in your daily adventures (and other stuff)... and that you share poems about feeling guilty you didn't hand out a dime to a homeless guy: THis is fantastic. YOu are so much in touch with your world and you bring us into it--- Please don't stop!!! Love to you all in CA from Roger and me, in SUNNY but COLD Brittany!!! :-)

Sarah said...

Thank you Ginny for always being there and for being who you are: a caring and loving friend. I feel blessed to know that you are a reader of the blog. It brings it to life and contributes a great deal to my feeling good about sharing.