Lullaby for the Unlovable

Homeless



A colorless weather hovers in this bleak place.
Bodies in the dark, an uncomfortable inconvenience to a lone passerby.
I go intact by mad miracle or perhaps, divine grace.
The gray sky lowers, the winter’s night opens its eye.
Lost sons and daughters sleep nearby,
Phantoms of failure. Society’s wasted lives.
Hush, forgotten ones, don’t you cry.
This little lullaby, how can it save them?

Stars a stupid confetti in a lidless room of concrete and sky.
Bits of burnt paper wheel across the blackness.
Teeth chatter among dusty, broken sighs.
Hunched in black on the periphery, a silent witness.
Who is this furious boy? Just one of many blended into the stillness.
Inhabitants of the night, faces with no features.
Hush, forgotten ones, don’t you cry.
This little lullaby, how can it save them?

The tongues of hell in his ears,
Voices a crackling static, like bad radio.
Broken puppet abandoned by the puppeteer.
Dirty, matted Jesus hair. His face turns, wordless and slow.
Had a god closed his eye and let him slip? An ambiguous shadow?
Human spirit condemned, not by deed or law, but indifference.
Hush forgotten ones, don’t you cry.
This little lullaby, how can it save them?

2 comments:

  1. I love the repetition at the end of each stanza.

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    1. Thank you. I hope you have a wonderful day. :)

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