We see people walking on the edges of roads.
Their faces are bland, we assume that they are poor, they are.
Great photographers see them and take their pictures; they hang them on pastel walls and
win Pulitzer prizes in photography.
This is a part of society that I do not see.
I am always too busy to see them.
There is a part of society that I do not see.
I try to see them but they do not want to be seen or so I think? They have a chip on their shoulders.
The world does not see them. They walk behind baskets of trash.
They walk on the edge of the roads, we almost ran over them! Their world does not reflect the beauty as seen on T.V.
Their minds are somber and poor.
They unload the trucks at the warehouse; they turn their heads when you look their way.
They walk in groups of poverty; there is no education or dreams in their minds. Their cloths are from the poverty bin.
They sometimes sit on benches of dust as we drive by and wonder what happened.
Some of us are pulled away and stay; some of us are mired in poverty.
We have to see, we have to stop and see.
Some of us have tried to pull them away from the poverty, they do not move.
We whimper in our minds, come away we scream. They are stuck in their way.
Their path does not move out.
Do I see them? Yes.
Do they see me? No.
Then again they do see me.
I am on that lofty platform thinking about the angels.
I am typing at the computer keyboard.
The Beatles are singing about the Penny Lane.
Gollum is learning the meaning of ....