I know you can see them;
A silent orchestra
along your streets,
But you don't notice
their ripped faces,
enclosed by paper shells.
You don't notice
the blood of their cries flowing from their open wounds
and disappearing through the cracked concrete
I know you can see her,
pink and yellow and blue,
begging at her mother through a filter of stability and strain and status
for the metallic tinkle of pitiful, pretty pennies.
I know you can see her
sharing a smile as she discovers a lost soul
for an instant,
without knowing that the aria of her laugh is more valuable
than every metallic symphony on the superficial surface
of this muted earth.