I sit
	In one of Life's
	Dreariest spots:
	In one of Life's
	Parking lots.
	I watch
	The dirty, rusty,
	Crumpled hulks go by...
	And ask myself:
	Why, O God, why?
	Who are these
	Aimless, nameless
	Who pass me by?
	What kith and kin
	To them am I?
	Are these my siblings dear,
	Who pass me silent
	O'er the arid pavement drear?
	How can she
	My sister be,
	Who speaks
	Such needless profanity?
	Is he my brother
	Who thunders past,
	Leaving tortured rubber?
	Oh God!
	How can I love
	This mass,
	This crowd
	I cannot understand;
	And who
	Make no move
	To fathom me?
	Their errands--
	To them so important--
	Do not interest me;
	My thoughts
	Concern them not.
	Yet, we
	All are One--
	And You love us

	I wonder
	How it is
	To love like God;
	And not
	Upon your fellow's souls
	To trod?


© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

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