The Man on the Corner

Frankie Andrews

Young Writers 2018

The man sits on his folding chair.
He looks down the same road,
Holding the same sign,
Day after day.
He wonders if this is it.
His whole life's peak.
Sitting in the cold.
 
As huge silver cars rush by
Their drivers can't even look
At this poor old man
Compassion warms their hearts
But their mind wanders.
"Probably an addict".
 
The man barely knows his own name.
A veteran, perhaps once, but no more.
Now he's a bum sitting on a street corner,
Waiting for what? Death is the sole respite.
"If he worked harder he wouldn't be there."
 
This is reality, shamefully true.
As we live in comfort and warmth,
Thousands starve and shiver,
Worse off than the dogs we keep.
But we do nothing.

Photo

Vincent Griffin

A photo
A piece of frozen time
Preserving moments  
Happy moments
Sometimes sad moments
Moments worth remembering
Showing deep emotion
Tragedy
Celebration
Simple life…

A piece of frozen time
 

Descent

Jeremy Hannon

As night’s dark curtain falls,
The whispers of wind wander the halls,
And a frigid bleakness steals away,
The blessed light of bygone day.
 
When the summer day had passed,
And twas somber night at last,
I ventured towards my chamber grand,
A candelabra held in hand,
Till gruesome terror gripped my soul,
And I started faster towards my goal.
 
 
I heard footsteps echoing off the floor,
When I reached my sullen chamber door,
So I rushed into the darkened room,
To escape the coming doom.
 
Had the dead returned from the abyss,
To rob me of my youthful bliss?
Or was it merely infernal delusion,
Birthed from my eternal seclusion?
An attempt of the night to claim my sanity,
To mortally wound my arrogant vanity?
 
 
An apparition liberated from the prison of my mind,
No longer to my psyche were my thoughts confined,
But free to roam the world by night,
And retreat at the advent of first light.
 
Closer and closer the footsteps came,
The wails of the dead calling my name,
The deafening screech of my wretched heart,
My fragile sanity prepared to depart,
So I took to the window with fearsome speed,
And with the night I began to plead.
 
I begged for mercy, for what had I done?
But discovered the sympathy of none,
And as my howls filled the empty night air,
The pale, shining moon did naught but stare.
 
I clawed at the fluttering light of the stars,
The divine flickering of night's brilliant scars,
But what could stop the coming of madness,
This lurid descent into unwavering sadness?
 
 
Forgive not the dark, unfeeling night,
Its power over man, the hideous might,
As it can bring naught but perpetual woe,
Nothing but the seeds of madness sow.
 
As my mind unravelled,
And my fractured spirit travelled,
I felt the sting of night's rejoice,
As I was faced by maddening choice,
To endure the fruits of my tormented mind
Or solemn peace in swift death find.
 
But not this night was I destined to choose,
To destroy my life or my sanity lose,
For upon the rising of the sun in the east,
The constant anguish of darkness ceased,
But I knew when the night set in anew,
So too the descent would soon ensue.