Dragon Blood

He sits on the edge of the world
unconcerned with the
dissimulation of
polite society
busy little bee's 
bouncing off reality
living the dream he
so valiantly fought to protect
he sits there quietly
saturated in urine
manufactured of
white port fueled 
by memory of war
contemplating 
nothing
invisible to most
But still 
a blight upon their sensibilities and 
a horrid fright to the eyes when seen
cold hungry and shivering
they could give a sh*t to his welfare 
they cogitate his insanity 
his own undoings 
and that smell 
the smell of death
lurking  waiting to pounce
on yet another of society's outcast 
putrid sores cover flesh uncovered
where gnats and flies feast 
and maggots dine beneath the skin and 
his breath
his breath  smells of Dragon Blood 
do we even know what Dragon Blood is? 
apparently he does 
two tours in Vietnam an a Purple Heart for bravery
yet he sits on the edge of the world 
bravely trampled underfoot of apathy
absent of coalition
he wishes only to be left alone
to dance in the pain
of degredation
and waltz in the face of death
until God calls him to reckoning 
he will sit there on the edge of the world
listening to 
the mundane idiocrasy of those who wander by
left to his own maundering
invisible that is 
until the olympics come to town

Author Notes

For those on the streets who has been cast out - and forgotten.

© Odonko-ba. All rights reserved, a year ago