Alone in the City

Once a man faces his own  back street mask

Folded thrice, ironed (and  hung with care to

Dry upon a cold steel stair out of reach),

Enduring the lone struggle of a task

Asked of the self, to be, and not to do

Degrading actions of those who teach

Endlessly the meanings of  compassion

Needless of  victims, then can he become

Devoid of  this assembled thoughtlessness.

A man sits in a dead-end alley.  Some

Lie has been spread, that he is dead. Though less

Lies are said:

                                  he‘s-of-a-drunken-nation.

Ernst contemplated the brick in the wall;

Yet insisted it didn’t exist at all.

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16 thoughts on “Alone in the City

  1. willofheart says:

    it is beautifully written, so sad and deep….

  2. coyotetooth says:

    Thanks, I get saddened by the forgotten ones.

  3. Lovely and sad. Yes, there are too many forgotten ones.

  4. ronkozloff says:

    Good poem. Solid. Glad to see your work.

  5. fotohack says:

    Reminds me of growing up in Edinburgh circa 79 to 82. A quiet 12 year from Toronto thrown to the primary school wolves in Broxburn. Stranger in a strange land as it were……cheers for your writing pal don’t stop…..the Hack.

  6. Cole Crook says:

    Thoroughly enjoyed this my friend.

  7. coyotetooth says:

    Thanks, I’ve enjoyed reading through your blog, just have to find the time to give it proper attention.

  8. It took me on a lonely journey … beautifully written

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