By: Reanna Marchman
Sits
On a crowded side walk
Tattered hair
Musky shadow hovering
Over the sun burned form
Engrained on the brick wall
A silhouette of what was
Once seen as human
Or so assumes the passers by
Walking
Blinded and numb
To the PERSON behind
The dirt
Unaware of the permanent marker in hand
The cement a blank sheet to
Write
Those poetic words,
which matter to me
“And I who
Saw, who knew
Who thought. Who
Thought why. Who
Stopped before asking
Why. Who knew to
keep going? Who
knew to stop then?
They never stop.
They never ask why.”
I would have liked to ask
WHY
Will no one else?
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