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| I�ve seen your face before, on a hundred park benches, or in a dozen shop doorways. In shabby little picture houses or in cheap hotel stairs and hallways. In grubby shapeless raincoats, with head bent in daydream or pain. Or the hazy figure you feel guilty about, gazing through the windows in the rain. Who of us feel pity? As you return to that small, tattered, wall papered room. But pity seldom lasts for long, and remorse, remorse will come after your doom. Day no different from night, perhaps even life no different from death. But you have not the right nor courage, so leave God to take your last breath. I wonder why you are the outcast, why not your brother or friend. Can you think back, can you think why? if it broke, why didn�t it mend? Yes, I�ve seen your face before, I realise, as soon as I pass. But of course it�s not your face at all. But mine, in the reflection of the glass. � by Geni-inaBottle |
| Reflections |
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