Sadly Comfortable

Late in the day and the river flows slowly.
The mills turns to silhouettes, dead things
no longer full of the life and power
that once permeated the town below and gave it life.

But no more. Now it is empty.
Vagrants spread their blankets on rotting floors.
Graffiti covers the walls. Ceilings have fallen.
It is a dangerous place. A place of lost souls.

But from here, high on the hill,
it is a beautiful ruin. None of the ugliness shows.
It is safe here, so far away,
and sadly comfortable.

About this poem

Poverty. Metal Illness. Homelessness. When we don’t let ourselves get close, to see the faces and the people and learn their souls, then it’s easy to ignore. But don’t get too close. Someone might touch our heart. And that’s dangerous.

Oh, yeah, and it’s about factories too.

Tom