Master of Ceremony
October 9, 2012 Leave a comment
On every street corner, In every pizza place,
You’re just another slice in time. In the midst of the masses,
Sits a beggar, a mere ghost, Imitating a man.
An unfortunate icon of the city, Short of shoes, sitting on lifeless wheels, His tin cup, barely clutching his hand. You…, you have a place to be, Master of Ceremony, Your parade marches on… Past his dimming, glassy eyes, Eyes you will never meet. You sail past his hopes Hopes you can never sink. Past his tin cup, from which, You will never drink. Originally written after a trip to NYC in 2007 Updated 10-09-2012