Rarely do I share my journal entries… but today is another day and well, why not?
I wrote this this morning, while on my first cup of coffee.
I was feeling mostly moved by the man who picked recyclables out of trash cans and was saddened by the fact that we turn away from these sights. If we see a homeless man hungry on the street, or a less fortunate man, we turn away. We pretend they are not there. We have become numb… myself included. So, in honor of that man, the least I can do is share what I wrote about him today and even then it is not enough…
Here is to that man without a name.
people are painting a picture and I am not part of it.
The old clock tower rings in the distance
The old ladies walk with their fine dress and big hats
some carry shopping bags and
others converse about how to cook purple potatoes
Mothers walk with their strollers
and children are crying for milk
The sun is shining, the skies are blue, everything is so polished
The man in a business suit hold his dry cleaning off of one shoulder
and checks to see the time on his gold wrist watch
All of them paint a perfect picture
and I am no where in there
nor is the man with a black trash bag collecting recyclables off of every trash can
To everyone else he is invisible
To me, he is the only living being, true, and real in this picture.
It might be that I am too damn sensitive. I could cry over an injured bird or a butterfly with a broken wing. But, I was made this way. So, if I could shine any light to it, I will. If I can do anything, I will. My voice is my instrument. So the least I can do is write about it.
Cheers, salute, salud, y sante
your very own,