Survival Poem by Eleonora Woods

I feel a reed walking around
with a holy banner tied to it
and find the shreds are clinging
to the people in the street who
ward them off with empty hands.
The colors have just faded
in the last few hours
being held again against
the neon light of obligations and abilities
required to survive in my society.
I stand accused
all on the windy corner
'tween the ideal and only me.
My street is lined with many shredded colors.
Around the bend is all 'would be'