by Spirited Earthling - September 2001
I see his face today:
cringing like a swallowed seed, lost and bewildered.
The pain of so much suffering etched too deeply for his mask to hide; his eyes hollow, weak with regret and coloured with sickness; his skin stretched taught across bony cheekbones in testimony to the hardship he's enduring.
I see a soul barely alive, clinging to dashed hopes; where the expectation of last resolve has somehow been banished, somewhere gone, lost in the pandemonium of events surrounding him.
He was in the office of the Department of Housing the last time I saw him; with friend, and an offer of a place in South Hamilton. One could see the glee his eyes gave, sense the joy, and hear the humour in his cackle with the counter-staff.
His appearance said it all - colourful clothes, cushioned cheeks, clean socks and shoes, and that exuding glow that tells of a person living close to their calling, content with their existence. Even his walk seemed refined and promising…
His excitement was infectious, but also unnerving…I had wondered then if he knew what South Hamilton was really like…nicknamed ‘The Bronx’ due to its notorious reputation. It was a message clear as day.
I felt for him then, but shrugged it off as irrational and paranoid. I prayed then, pleading that he not be broken, that he not be too sensitive to the stonewall streets and bludgeoning farce of a crippled neighbourhood.
That was twelve months ago, and here we sit next to each other, one broken, the other lost…twelve months and he has lost the spirit, the smile, and the glow that gave inspiration to a memory…
I wonder at the frailty of it all. Another lost soul to join the queue - Newcastle seems to have too many. I pray, that somewhere in his torment he might find a way to live…
