On The Fringe Poem by Rebecca Dodgson

People who can shout with a pen
yet turn to shambles when they speak,
Who face their call to arms
in the cradle of a notebook
that will never be read.

People who exist as warning labels-
something important.
Something imperative that is always ignored.
Tossed aside to live
and die on the fringes of society.

They never seem to try but they always do. But,
They wander, slip, then lose themselves
then wander back again
To reclaim old habits, who
unlike them, die hard.

We wander home,
to the same pen-to the same notebook.
But society never comes home.
It moves-
Not forward- just everywhere at once.

It wanders and slips and tries to lose the fringe.
A flock of sparrows-
all dancing the same and separate path,
as hopeless to understand,
to the people on the fringe, as we are.