Julie (reallyjulie) wrote in i_made_moonlite,

Green Shirt

I feel like Iam taking names....composing an infinite list of faces in my mind. Some of these faces have names, others only unforgetable features, but each one finds a cradle in my soul. A brief resting place in my womb. All I ask them in return is to maybe one day give them a glorious rebirth while at the same time I emerge from the dark, tight, lonely canal with a loud cry of relief.

I saw a homeless man the other day, and now I wonder what his name is. I went back to try to find him but he was gone. He stood on the corner of a one way street, and in his hand he held a sign. A sign asking for money, hoping for a random act of kindness,a knowing glance, and understanding ear.

He was young, couldnt be older than 29, unshaven and flowing hair....this man was someones son(Is this Morrison?). We searched, we tried, we did our best, we wanted to help this man. But we didnt know this town, we didnt know its streets, we didnt know his name. But I knew his face...I knew his face.

What has to happen to get to the place that he was at? What type of dark skies even exist? Pride has to crumble, boundaries must fall, tears must flow inwardly, drowning the soul within.

Empty, Empty, Empty, the world we inhabit, 6 bilion of us, and still we feel empty. Looking, clutching, searching, grasping, biting, spitting, loving, hating, obsessing, apathetic, decieved and convinced. These emotions they become our friends, they are the only constant. They are solid as steel.

But one man stands alone. Holding a sign, call it what you want; a cry, a plea, a declaration. He stands alone and takes it, our pity and our unwillingness to understand, our ridicules, our clever quips, our wadded up money and our sideways, overted glances.

Now days have passed, hours have ticked away, and still I see his face, his flowing hair, his green shirt. I feel like Iam taking names, composing a book of faces, faces that will forever remain nameless. And that makes my soul drop...it makes the empty spot in my stomach grow.

I long for these people, I long to soothe their pain...I want to hold them, kiss them, promise them better days.

For I the girl with a warm bed, a loving home, and a closet full of clothes and all the good pills...Iam one of them. Iam the young man on the street, holding a sign shamlessly. But no, I dont need your money, Iam in need of something greater, in a way Iam more desperate than he. For I need your love, your arms around me, squeezing and hugging my empty, empty, empty spot away that lies so deep within
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic