THE UNSEEN
Life’s but a walking shadow and thereby hangs a tale. Macbeth by William Shakespeare
They are quite often stared at but hardly seen crawling
Into night near your home, school, or office yet they
Who are so many do not hide inside their clothes or
Conceal themselves in sleep for these are the unseen
Mushroom ranks of faceless platoons and dehydrated
Souls with dry burnt lips and downcast sterile eyes
Who stumble endlessly like be shadowed bundles
Of curled laundry thrown out of the commonplace
To scramble nowhere where the horror is a mellow
Rhythm for abandoned hearts who rot in idleness
Like desperate flower-heads planted in the dark
They commit their hunger to the crimes of scavengers
By hustling pity with hands roped around their faces
To smuggle the past in a huge luggage of memories
Full of cigarette butts and ashes so they could bribe
Insatiable death and pawn old age for the silly little
Things while fading off before the naked eye