As seen from above

Feet, that is mostly what I see. And they are many. Everyday, sunshine or rain, it doesn't matter. Every one has a destination. You notice things like that when you spend your life sitting on cold asphalt, with a jar that has seen better days, in your hand. From a frogs perspective, isn't that what its called? When you see everything from the ground? I look down in my empty jar, thinking that it really doesn't matter at all.

It `s cold, it stings like a thousand needles through my thin leather jacket. I pull it closer together, like that will help. But I am used to it, know where is the coldest, hide in narrow streets. I know this city like my own pocket, I have walked here since I was a little boy. But I am not afraid, or I didn't use to be. But lately something's changed. My body is no longer what it used to be, wont do as its being told. Soon it will be winter. The feet I see from my usual place outside the railway station will be on their way home to their heated million houses. But that being said, I am not jealous. Maybe the opposite. I don't want to be a part of the corruption being played out behind scene. A society were people sell their soul for money. No, my soul is my own, no rich mamas boy is going to tell me something else.
One day something's going wrong, it had to happen. Then there is complete texas, just because no one has even a clue of what they `re really doing. You call that hell?
Then you haven't been in my shoes, and if you are sitting with little Jake on your lap in front of the fireplace as we speak, you probably never will either.
Being spitted at everyday, "fuck off and get yourself a job!". Cold biting me, an everlasting roar from my empty stomach, that is to me pretty synonymous with hell. Well, there you have my life. Maybe it is time for you to put in more wood?

Winter, children with red cheeks, their whole life ahead.
I can feel the tears burn behind my eyelids. I am escaping in to a narrow street now that there is almost night. It is going to be cold, I can feel it. My body is numb after hours sitting on the frozen ground, my legs are already turning blue. I curl up as good as I can, thinking that if I should die this night, it couldn't been a more beautiful one. The air is crisp and sharp like knives, the sky clear with thousands of glowing dots looking down at me. My eyes are getting heavy, if it `s because I `m tired or the sharp could, I don't know.
This night, it `s starting to snow.




Poetry by Evelyn
Read 812 times
Written on 2006-08-14 at 23:23

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Zachary P. B.
i loved this, so emotional and factual, but fictional too...

i loved in the end, when the narrator speaks in a voice kind of cold and bitter, and then the weather reflects that too with the snow...

z
2006-08-15