Underground_Network
June 8th, 2009, 08:04 PM
The coin collector opens shop
Just after four in the morning.
No one enters
But he makes a fortune
By six in the morning.
The penniless vagrant walks the streets
Clothed in rags in twenty degree weather at six in the morning,
In the middle of his aimless walk, he looks up at the sky,
He sees nothing, but still he feels enriched.
He looks back down at the ground an hour later
And a sudden warmth suffuses his body.
The retired military officer sits in a rocking chair
At seven in the morning, slowly shifting the chair back and forth,
Thinking about whatever there is to think about
When you have fought in three wars and won eleven medals for valor and honor.
He pauses for a moment and gets up to open the window.
He looks outside and sees a vast emptiness.
Thirty minutes later he is wealthier than he has ever been before.
The drug addict lays in the corner on top of his stash,
Half-asleep, half-awake, at seven-thirty A.M.
He keeps shaking uncontrollably and he feels the urge to use,
But his arm is so torn up by his constant abuse...
He starts to get up and look straight ahead of him.
He sees an absence of time. He hears the sound of nothing happening.
His eyes bulge at precisely seven forty-five AM; he stops shaking, stands up and starts to walk forward.
He leaves his stash behind and finds a fifty dollar bill in his left pants pocket.
The people of a town not listed on any map,
Stand up unified, holding hands
Bonded by the essence of time,
They see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing.
And yet they see everything, hear everything, and feel everything.
They are rich. And they are poor.
They are an illusion. And yet they are as real as you and I.
Just after four in the morning.
No one enters
But he makes a fortune
By six in the morning.
The penniless vagrant walks the streets
Clothed in rags in twenty degree weather at six in the morning,
In the middle of his aimless walk, he looks up at the sky,
He sees nothing, but still he feels enriched.
He looks back down at the ground an hour later
And a sudden warmth suffuses his body.
The retired military officer sits in a rocking chair
At seven in the morning, slowly shifting the chair back and forth,
Thinking about whatever there is to think about
When you have fought in three wars and won eleven medals for valor and honor.
He pauses for a moment and gets up to open the window.
He looks outside and sees a vast emptiness.
Thirty minutes later he is wealthier than he has ever been before.
The drug addict lays in the corner on top of his stash,
Half-asleep, half-awake, at seven-thirty A.M.
He keeps shaking uncontrollably and he feels the urge to use,
But his arm is so torn up by his constant abuse...
He starts to get up and look straight ahead of him.
He sees an absence of time. He hears the sound of nothing happening.
His eyes bulge at precisely seven forty-five AM; he stops shaking, stands up and starts to walk forward.
He leaves his stash behind and finds a fifty dollar bill in his left pants pocket.
The people of a town not listed on any map,
Stand up unified, holding hands
Bonded by the essence of time,
They see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing.
And yet they see everything, hear everything, and feel everything.
They are rich. And they are poor.
They are an illusion. And yet they are as real as you and I.