Travels

Little Trash Pickers

March 25 2016
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The soul stops and bleeds a little.

Somehow it had thought that those faces had stayed behind

No that is ok they stayed

It’s just less painful, less real

If they stayed behind.
I have no headphones on for once

Tonight I’m quite certain I want no sound at all

And then I hear it, the sound, that is

The diligent sound of tiny hands

Picking cans from a the city’s trash.
She looks at me in shame, the little one

He speeds up and confronts my look.
My heart stops and cries a little.
I am covered in the shame of this world

That brought them here only to leave them in the darkest of alleys.

He’s six she’s five
I want to hug them but can’t, I want to hold them and tell them stories that would most likely not make any sense.

Who cares about trapped princesses and dragons of a far, far away land when the only thing dancing in a tiny stomach is a beef empanada the lady with the teary eyes just bought you?

My soul stops and bleeds a little.