Girl on the Street
I saw a girl walking down the street,
and in her I saw many things,
though we did not meet.
First I saw her step.
Her feet moved like one who wished to get away,
but was held back;
for something made her stay.
And then I saw her arms.
Her hands swung like a lonely one,
she desired a hand to hold.
And the stiffness of her limbs
was a story still untold.
After this I saw the way
her chest was hollowed in pain.
Her hand clutched to her heart,
trying to avoid it in vain.
I saw the way her face was stone,
the way her brow was furrowed.
It was as though she had a mask
under which she burrowed.
I saw the way her mouth was closed,
a tight, thin line,
Where underneath many questions posed.
I saw lips that wanted to be kissed,
Words that wished to be said.
And I saw the way
her eyes suddenly filled with dread.
For she realized she was no longer alone,
she hated the thought of going home.
And as she turned to leave, I know she saw me.
Her eyes still haunt me to this day.
I saw tired eyes, age-old ones.
I saw the eyes of a crumbling one,
shattered but still holding on.
I saw the eyes of one who wished to laugh,
but couldn't find the will to do it.
I saw the eyes of someone who had lost,
and was still getting through it.
I saw empathetic eyes,
wanting to end every sort of pain.
And yet she knew most efforts
would be in vain.
I saw a girl that was tired and broken, yet warm.
She knew both pain and laughter.
All she wanted was for life
to go by a little faster.
Now you must think I can see into the soul,
for how can one tell this much
about a girl they do not know?
The reason I know so much about this girl, you see,
That girl is me.