“ The Lost ” ~ that so abound ~

 

In small cafes

I sit and watch

The sad array,

Of they who rove

And so abound

In scraggly drifts,

Each trying day

Seen as misfits,

Their daily round,

Whose sapping woes

Frames doleful lives…

 

I linger here

To write of life,

Might they rebound

The while describe

Their sad parade,

Save that they drown,

Has me compose

That, which defines,

Their faces fade,                                                                                

In darkest shades

Said have you blind…

 

Alas this potpourri

I see a poor writ play,

Yet façade of reality

Of wretched beings  

Moving mindlessly,

Searching for a soul                                    

Desperate to be whole,                                                                    

And on a likely ground 

Where being lost                                                                            

Be but for underground!

  

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