Thursday, March 12, 2009

New poem...

If you don't watch the investigative show What Would You Do? on ABC, then you're missing out. The idea for this poem was taken from that show. Please, go watch a few episodes. It will really make you think about how you treat others. Do we as a people really want to be treated as we treat others? I'd shudder to think what would happen if we did.

Let me know what you think, please.

Love and Lyte,

Fire Lyte

After a Fall

One man falls on a winter sidewalk.
No back alley for him;
he is for all to see.
There is a cold wind that puts Its
spindly fingers on his ankles.
One hand then grasps the man’s
left calf and the right hand
reaches for a thigh.
This goes on until the Cold has
put the fallen wretch underneath
It in an incestuous rape of
element and that which begs
reprieve from the elements.

Blackest in the sky. No longer a womb
of life, but a void
beckoning the man’s soul into damnation.

Just as that sky was reaching down
with white tentacles
part water, part man-mad substance/filth
ice
a woman crept up out of somewhere else
on a cane’s shoulder
tapping…tapping…tapping…
finding her blind way forward.

She reached for the man, fallen
and taken by cold.
Realizing the next existence had
yet no hold or claim on this one,
she posts up next to him.
Begging

Help this man for he is life incarnate.
Help this man for he is you and your brother’s brother.
Help him for he is not a being of dark
or void or some wretched thing to be
cast out as shit or trash…


Her eyes and face ever-pure reddened
in the cold as the Wind attempted to shut her mouth.

If you cannot help him then call out
with me in the night for help. If he
is to die here then pray for his soul,
for he is our collective spirit leaving
this place. He, sir or madam, is our
decency, our morality…

And the Void reached out Its
nebulous hand and held these two
apart from Everything.
And the woman said,

You, sir, shall be carried in my hands.
You will not be alone.
You cannot be alone.

And though she could not see him, she held him.

The papers did not register that the bodies
of two homeless street people were
frozen together and dead.

Only the city worker who had to
scrape up the corpses gave either
of them a voice – in a passing thought that
wasn’t even registered by the thinker.

One was a man, but that other one…
she looked like a goddamn angel.

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