In my mind, <br />I value the Easter Sunday life: <br />The resurrection <br />Of the spring sunrise, <br />The flowery parks and paths, <br />The children dressed <br />In their church school best. <br /> <br />But none of that life is me, <br />I’m the solitary soldier <br />Of the decaying urban streets <br />Breathing in the car exhaust <br />Of the common defeat; <br />I’m the midnight observer <br />Of dark poetic scenes: <br /> <br />I’ve seen violent dykes <br />Take off theirs tops <br />And threaten to fight <br />Until they kissed and made up; <br />I’ve seen a female wino <br />Face a storefront and scream <br />And then say her rosary, <br />Then retreat with boyfriends, <br />The bearded man with the mousy squeak <br />And the cowboy Elvis wannabe <br />To a dirty car <br />Where sexual transactions did transpire. <br /> <br />I’ve stood in oil and urine pools <br />Flirting with the saddest prostitutes, <br />I’ve patiently listened to the same snow job <br />From the same con man three times <br />In the same disoriented week <br />And fell for it at least twice. <br /> <br />I don’t make judgments <br />About any of this vice, <br />I just keep looking for meaning <br />In the accumulating days <br />That lead to the grave.<br /><br />Uriah Hamilton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/accumulating-days-that-lead-to-the-grave/
