A penny in the gutter
glimpsed me—nothing worse
than squandered opportunity.
Lost through holes in a worn pocket,
despair dressed as a lonely street.
Here I stand between walls,
heart once vibrant now whispering:
“Should the mind overhear—who?
Silence answers, knowing, feeling,
Do we stoop to reclaim it?
And perhaps in stooping
we embrace a dying soul
curled in the park—”
a penny for your thoughts,
your heart, your soul.
:: 07.17.2026 ::
