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Updated on October 3, 2009


on May 3, 2007. ©-MFB III


Like penguins on ice floes

they stand huddled,

congregated in small groups

against alabaster and crystal towers.

In black suits and business dresses

most face the Arctic stares of

those passing by.

Their breath forms white plumes

in the warm air,

much like mine

in bitter January.

They move thier limbs

in small motions

from mouth to side

and chatter loudly.

They are the flickering ashes

of a people of habit;

near extinction

by personal choice and actions,

forsaken by an intolerant society.

Filtered out of the mainstream of life,

Their tan and white butts

are scattered everywhere.

Observe these cremains

of an era now past

they are becoming rare,

like our own abilities

to seek truth.



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