Cold and without ash,
That burns the eyes
And sears the sight.
Blindly
Yet
without heed or gropingThe people make their way
On concrete streets sloping
Away –
Away,
away from alleys,
Those
moribund urban valleys,Where hidden creatures lay.
The
ghosts of unknown abuse,
These
spirits hide in refuse.Invisible to the eye,
They stand, swaying, in corners,
While the blind people glide by.
Their
shadowy shapes vary –
Women
and children who once owned homes.Now they haunt dark, empty doorways,
In the cold and all alone.
Down
comes the snow and turns the world white.
The
tracks of these spirits are fast hid from sight.If a ghost should appear on your way home one night
And ask for a gift to fight hunger and blight,
And your heart can still see though your eyes may be blind,
Remember one day you may too be a ghost –
The blind at the mercy of thieves lose the most.
