Crowd

kerouac-4

a blanket of hurry

muffles the impatient horde

coloring the sidewalk

with a reverse rainbow of humanity

intimate strangers

breathing the same air

searching for spectacles

lost in a million million thoughts

a panoply of psyches

people at their worst,

unkind, self-involved, abrupt

ignoring

groping hands reach for benediction

averted eyes pretend not to see

those tarnished by the brush of “not enough”

but also the quiet moments of kindness

that have redeemed us since

before we could walk, grunting politely

at others in nearby caves

millenia later, we still strive for refuge

seeking sanctuary among the teeming masses

the blissful solace of losing yourself

in a sea of people

the wonder of crossing eyes,

skimming through briefly bare surfaces

more than connection

joined vulnerabilities

with someone you may never see again,

and can be utterly free with

*Image courtesy of this amazing new artist and blogger I just discovered: http://myscribbledsecretnotebooks.com/tag/painting-of-kerouac/

Stranger

What am I to you?

a stranger.

a dreamer.

a  curiosity.

Somebody worthy of your time,

or just another shuffled off to the margins.

we never think twice about

those we walk amongst.

we never stop to celebrate each other,

not for any special occasion,

but because of our beautiful potential.

I don’t know you

but I could.

Haven

The fray does not acknowledge me

But spirals on, unassuming.

Funny, how our private tragedies,

worldbreakers

that plunge us even further

through a miraged rock bottom,

are invisible to everyone else.

There is no crossing guard

proclaiming a firm neon ‘stop’

against the aggressive brute force

of an unhumdrum daily life.

Nobody to shout that I just need some air

a beat, a breath, relief.

To the world, I am a number.

Doctors, reps, CEOs, policymakers & power players

–whatever they call themselves–

all see us the same way.

they have already decided all that

I am

we are

and all that we can give

 

it’s time for us to turn ‘I’ to ‘we’ again

turn patches of hell

into pockets of haven

and prove them wrong.

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