Impoverished Greed

March 17, 2017
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Sometimes your ghostly figure wanders here
With twisted sorrow hanging from your frame,
And in the road you wait for moonlight clear
To glimpse a tire-track face in pools of shame.


I watch you shatter into broken glass
And drag your fragments through the shadowed dim.
You make your home on benches tarnished brass,
But in dark tortured alleyways you swim.


Why must you peer at me with hopeless eyes?
I turn my face and hide my purse away.
I shade your pleas with endless, crafted lies,
When selfish hearts do know what I can’t say.


And though to give is good and right, I know
My eyes still wish that with the wind you’d go.

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