The Product Of A Fragile Life Poem by Not Long Left

Wandering down the street of a previous
thousand wanders feet now linger, unable

to hurry into change. The place where
your ring used to be burns for it yearns to

be circled again. The milkman mocks your
failings looks through you- you are a only

ghost to yourself. Old Bill the resident tramp
was once a momentary reminder of what

could, what couldn't ever happen. Yet now
the burden of associaiton pulls on the

chords of your heart. The pretty young girl
with untouched curls sitting in the cafe

repositions you around the family table
and you see yourself wipingthe crumbs

without a seconds thought, as your lost
love looks on with distant eyes.