Deadbeat
Bereft- bile rising on a tide of crimson tears
Soul surrendered.
Forget the humdrum faces of the faithful
Languish in the liminality of loss that lengthens the hours of every day since.
Bury your head. Bury your heart.
That which hath gone and cannot be gathered
For the past is passed, and whilst not to be forgotten cannot pulse again with life
Dust beckons.
Hooded, labelled, lost on the fringe
Of a world that ceased to care, no compassion.
Deadbeat.
© Alison Jean Hankinson
This isn’t my usual style and it is a poem for the man in the doorway many months ago, perhaps it is his back-story. It is for Napowrimo day 13.
This is for open link night with d’Verse.
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Nice sounding line: “Forget the humdrum faces of the faithful”
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Some of them were the faithful but something happened.
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“Of a world that ceased to care, no compassion”… oh gosh I hope it never comes to this. Long may humanity prevail 💜
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This is beautiful and so touching.
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The repetition of deadbeat hammers the futility of life and profound loss ~
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This is dark and sad…..who is the man in the doorway? A good write.
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I don’t know, but I don’t think he had been a bad person just had a difficult spell in life.
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*shiver*
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Bury your head, bury your heart – that is a dark place. I am not sure who the man in the doorway is, but now I am curious.
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This is a loss I know well, I see it around. But sometimes I see glimmer of newness that make me hopeful of something better to come.
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I know that man in the doorway, there is many such as he, lost to the world, a world devoid of compassion.
And how quick are we to attach the label, write him off, this much easier than the effort of caring.
And what labels do we attach to ourselves…for we deserve them more…
Anna :o]
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May he never darken my doorway! A painfully descriptive poem!
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No, not your usual “spoonful of sugar” but you captured the man and stirred us to consider his plight.
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I like how “Deadbeat” bookends the poem. This made me think of all those (men or women) that are lost, troubled, forgotten and suffering inside. I think there are many…that we may call crazy, that we dismiss. A beautifully written poem, Alison.
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Thank you very much. Much Love. XX
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