The reporter says
there is widespread damage
and someone is shown wailing
beside some rubble.
But they are right
about the spread.
Most of us are damaged
in some way.
And stand by
our smashed lives,
reduced to crying,
numbly in the rain.
Where we are jostled
by walking wounded,
overwhelmingly
all around.
Asking for help for
pity's sake.
Until you have to sob
"Can't you see I'm damaged too?"
Friday, January 21, 2011
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Untitled
The orbs can see, A.K.
And they say this is a fine poem.
~
A shift, the tighter quatrain, awe.
Most of us are damamged
in some way.
We all belong in a secondhand store somewhere after about 6 months.
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