Thursday, January 15, 2004
Sentinel
Do you know the man you see? Dare you know his thoughts? A cup of coffee, or a spot of tea or a blanket against the frost? His eyes persist to penetrate walls of distrust and social hate. His presence makes you agitate against the thought– “This could be my fate.” Yet, there he stands, with emblems born from cards stacked in crooked form. His hand was dealt and undercut by those who cheat others to make a buck. He stands, a human Sentinel, Poverty is his name. Destitute, He asks for change, but...
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