State of Contemplation By Jasen Sousa
State of Contemplation
In Massachusetts
I attempt to stay sane,
under a sky that’s grey, I rest my brain. Sitting on a park bench,
homeless stench, I watch the city operate. Sitting under a tree, branches hang down to my shoulders, wind blowing, getting colder, watch concrete dry up from a night’s rain,
I contemplate.
My life
has been moving so fast, I relax, imagine my future,
ponder my past. Over the city this morning, a gloomy
shadow is cast, making the picture grey, sites of construction, homeless man on the corner, sight of destruction.
I stare at the tree beside me, watch branches sway.
With little
regard of how he feels, a woman walks echoing
off the sidewalk, her high heels, aboveground subway squeals,
a store owner yells at a boy who steals a bag of chips,
everyone checks their wrists, making sure they’re not late, kids hang a flyer with tape, a woman gets out of a car,
gives her man a kiss.
A bus stops,
opens the doors, no one gets aboard, windows with items no one
can afford, under his hoodie a young man carries
a smaller version of a sword, not protected by the Lord,
different lives people lead, different clothes cover up
the same bleeding. People heading different ways
in their Mercedes and Accords.
Taken From
A Mosaic of My Mind By Jasen Sousa (Written at age 24)
©
In Massachusetts
I attempt to stay sane,
under a sky that’s grey, I rest my brain. Sitting on a park bench,
homeless stench, I watch the city operate. Sitting under a tree, branches hang down to my shoulders, wind blowing, getting colder, watch concrete dry up from a night’s rain,
I contemplate.
My life
has been moving so fast, I relax, imagine my future,
ponder my past. Over the city this morning, a gloomy
shadow is cast, making the picture grey, sites of construction, homeless man on the corner, sight of destruction.
I stare at the tree beside me, watch branches sway.
With little
regard of how he feels, a woman walks echoing
off the sidewalk, her high heels, aboveground subway squeals,
a store owner yells at a boy who steals a bag of chips,
everyone checks their wrists, making sure they’re not late, kids hang a flyer with tape, a woman gets out of a car,
gives her man a kiss.
A bus stops,
opens the doors, no one gets aboard, windows with items no one
can afford, under his hoodie a young man carries
a smaller version of a sword, not protected by the Lord,
different lives people lead, different clothes cover up
the same bleeding. People heading different ways
in their Mercedes and Accords.
Taken From
A Mosaic of My Mind By Jasen Sousa (Written at age 24)
©