Raison D'Être Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Too close
Or too outlying

That is not the
Work of the way
Nor the machinism
Of the soul

On the disillusioned
Streets we are nameless
And driveled
I sit, unused and
Be the sole witness
To the espionage of
The felines or
The groveling of
The shadows

In this vantage
The trees rustle
A laugh - a silent,
Unfathomable derision
And in here,
We all have our
raison d'êtres to be
Lost, banished and
Broken in all
The wrong places

Mine is just
Too far-flung
And I feel the parasol
Bend to the strife
Of the wind's frigid expanse;

In here we all
Share the same fate
A circus, a redundancy
We are all
Flabbergasted, tired
And ravaged
By the soliloquy
Of seeing our hands empty
As we grip the cold
Bars in resigned places.

I do not know when
This will be consigned
To forgetfulness -
All I know is that
I vie because I have a
Heart, and when it
Shatters, I know
I am alive.