I am the one they call
unknown
as the breeze to a closed
window....
the feather of a gull lost at
sea....
an empty tin can buried deep under the wreckage of
Katrina...
a dirty over used syringe in the home of a lone
junkie...
as the broken hearted man walking down time square
on new years eve waiting for the hope of a new beginning...
as to them...
we are the ones they call
unknown...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem