The Coldest Cold

They use words like ‘family’ and ‘home’

He blows on his cold coffee, blinking hard

And pretends he is not listening

While the hollowness expands in his soul

Laughing, they gather mittens and scarves

Chatting incessantly through lingered farewells

Of ‘see you soon’ and words like ‘friend’

He has never known their warmth nor they his depth of bitter cold

His cold cannot be soothed by mittens or scarves

Even the box that he calls home is warm

In comparison to the chilling agony in his soul

As an eternal echo weeps alone, alone, alone

Oh, he’s known a family of sorts, gathered around

The warming stove of an old rubbish bin 

But its members come and go, or die

And they all suffer the plight of an unbearable chill

Once a passing gentleman yelled ‘God loves you, son’

Tossed him a coin and patted himself on the back

Returning to the comfort of home-fires, behind closed doors

While outside the chill grew deeper, freezing the tears in his soul

Janet~