Eugene

Eugene,
I see you looking,
looking at me
with those forlorn eyes,
that tired dejection, and
bravery.

Well, maybe, I said,
maybe you can toss
this dreadful life, and flee, but
your heartís gone cold, as cold as
your ears, and hands, and feet.

All through the eyes of a blind man.
How many more have we stunted like this?
Oh, we are not to be faulted, we said,
for we are the ones with the fortunate ends.

Eugene,
you were a broker, and
a seller of goods, but
youíve lost it all, and youíd
sell your soul to stand
where you once stood.

Once wed,
you felt love of a kind
that I have never had.
Heaven knows her better now,
and for her
itís not so bad.

Eugene,
you see the passers,
passing you by.
They deny you change,
abuse you,
reproach you
of getting high.

But itís been
many a year since you have
first been clean.
You are sober now, but
your mindís still bursting
at the seams.

You said,
told me you were sent down
here to earth to be
an angel for all
of our friends in need,
and I
may have walked you by
a thousand times before
on a floor of stone,
coarse and cold,
all alone,
frighteningly hollow,
and somehow filled with
life, joy, tears, and smiles,
and love,
and hope.