They are out there in the cold, but you refuse to see them.

The Forgotten ones.

Worn down to threads, seeing no longer just their heads.

Seeing flesh thru the cloth, you wonder is that all they have left?

The Forgotten ones.

Zippers and buttons dropping off, that clutter the ground as you walk.

The feel of flesh shifting underneath, of something else you try to think.

The Forgotten ones.

But as their stink fills the air, still you do not see or hear.

You curse them for being there ,they never talk but only stare.

The Forgotten ones.

Suffering terribly out there in the cold, they are the young and the old.

Some crawl in to the sun and die, and all you do is just ask why.

The skin on their face is rotted through, but what could you do.

The Forgotten ones.

You stop to stare into the corpse face, and wonder how it got this way.

You wonder if you should stay, but then of course you just walk away.....

..........Forgetting them.

........by LinDA.