Fractured but somehow not broken.
Like a passenger, alone, in an otherwise empty railway carriage
To the observer by the side of the track, I will not seem real.
But just a dissected jumble of body parts flying –
Eye, arm, tear upon a cheek, passing by.
Less than human, I hope to appear
To the disease waiting outside for me.
Nothing but shadows and light
To the watcher beside the track.
Nothing in the scheme of things, nothing to infinity.
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.