Paul Barrowman

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I walk the forest valley early in the dawn, thick fog surrounds me. With each step I take, my feet clean the wild grass from the ornaments of dew.

Turning, I see my bright prints overtaken by the enduring mist. The sprawling branches of the thicket pierce through the fog like the bones of wrecked vessels on uncharted shores. I walk the dampend ground to a beaten path, not made under the trampled foot of men, Here I kneel and observe. The grass and its royal crown, once adorned with diamonds is now enlayden with stones of ruby, the life blood of all.
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Loneliness is a barren well
from witch no water is drawn.

The sun burns hottest on the shoulders of a burdened man.
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If I was tall to touch the pole
twice the lenth of the fall.
Eyes of fire, scarlet red
to the ground, coming dread.
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A single Shadow of darkness drives against the iron night sky, patiently focused on the distant tear of Light. Wild jealousy feeds desperation and the Shadows heart is filled with an overflowing biting, gnashing anger.
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The homeless man holds the sign while people pass and gawk.
I follow step and do the same. In my mind 'Get a job', In my heart 'Pity'.

My mind 'Ok, its pity, as long as they didn't hurt anyone to get where they are', I continue walking to get a News paper, reading headline.
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