Broken Pieces

“Fuck it, I’m done with you.”
Flew out of her mouth
Like a bird finally escaping
A long-caged existence
And I, dropping my head
Did my best invisible man
Pretending not to notice
The tear streaming down her face
As I hurried by
Out of the office building
And into the cold stillness
Permeating through hurried souls
Scattering as ants
With a purpose

A rescue squad tripped the lights
Screaming on its somber way
In a rush to save someone
At the meeting place
Of answered and unanswered prayers
Pensive people waiting
For news from the front lines
White’s pureness
Meets red’s murky afflictions
In medicine’s arena
Stats, meds and tears
Collide on the merry-go-round
Of mortality’s doorstep
Hoping the door remains closed

A homeless man
Simply working his median strip
Collecting funds for life
Or rather a simple pleasure
To forget about life
At least, just for a while
Now harassed by the cops again
There can be no such display
Creating discomfort
For capitalism’s commuters
So off to a jail cell he goes
While his sign screams in vain
“Homeless vet, needs work.”
A message lost in traffic

On the home stretch
An old woman pushed along
One wheelchair wheel bent
As if to agree with her
That something’s not right
When he is gone
And she remains
Stoic and lonely against time
As children play
The carefree laughter
Echo’s to the heavens
Her hand stretches out
Touching the breeze
Hoping to feel once more his warmth

And I, like a stranger
In my own country
Step in through the door
As a lonely traveler
Entering a bustling hotel lobby
Weary from the day’s loathsome tribulations
Skeptically eyeing those that seem so at home
Comfortable yet aloof
And I close my eyes and pray
For some magic glue
That could put back together
The broken pieces of everyday life

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Freedom of the Press

Losing my voice was my first choice
But they said death was better suited for me
And I’d never given my voice
So, my death it was always going to be

Tried walking in through the out door
But the attention simply seemed to increase
Did such words cut them to the core?
Oh, the fear invoked from this simple treatise

Met with anger, not so much fear
Did they not appreciate the saddest truth?
Thine enemy stood straight and clear
And yet my time was not quite done as a sleuth

They many, me myself and I
I leaned to peer inside their wicked toolkit of death
The time struck on my time to die
But, said I before my last breath

“The body shall perish, but the words will remain.
To bring crashing down your evil reign.
No escape for you, no redress.
From our full court freedom of the press.”

But with the swing of a blade, it was gone.

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