Haunting Face Poem by Atara Gedalowitz

It's a very narrow window
That entrance between realms
Perhaps two yards, or even less,
And yet, it overwhelms

Descending down its grimy stair,
You slip into a crowd,
Of people bent on rushing,
And tracks that are too loud.

Fear, disgust, and apathy,
Mix among this crew,
Casting furtive glances,
Stirring through the slew,
Of awful sounds and awful smells
And awful sickly air
That lies still, until it's cracked
By someone in despair
Who then is drowned, among the sound,
Of trains that come and go
With people, people, in and out -
Hordes that shrink and grow.

It's not just a means to an end,
A way to get somewhere
It's a city of its own
In which you must beware.

Catch no one's eyes, stare at the floor,
Clutch your bag and or purse,
And be warned, by those without,
Your life could be much worse.

After you've arisen,
Climbed up those ghastly flights,
Color returns, memories fade
Of the sallow, flickering lights,
And of the noise, and of the pain,
And of that other place,
It's not so hard, once you've returned,
To forget the haunting face
That lies below, that lies within
The city's thronging height
Who cares if you remember
It's safely below…right?