Sitting here among the wounded
Spirits shrouded under these dark, dusty rags,
Cast aside by society’s finest
Forgotten by those who once cared,
Misfits, they're called
Guess that makes me one, too...

Glancing around this desolate room, there are faces
Once full of hope and zest for living,
What happened to steal their thunder?
With their eyes to the ground and straight ahead stares
Looking for nothing,
As nothing was there ...

The last time they tried to reach up,
Grabbing at any chance for reprieve
Is there no hope if you've lost that round?
Laid bare your soul
That life with great purpose,
Now, kicked to the curb
Sit there!
On the outside, without …

A glimmer of something
An answer to prayer
Is all that’s really needed,
Just one more chance to feel alive again
Is that asking too much?
Or have we stopped caring?
Who listens anymore or bothers

06/16/2006

Author's Note: ever felt this way?

Posted on 12/08/2006
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