Richard Schnap- A Poem

ANONYMITIES

There are those born as clean
As the empty pages
Of an unwritten book

That is too soon dirtied
By the grimy hands
Of those obliged to raise them

Who twist them until
They are as bent as a tree
Crippled by a cruel wind

With the dead nest
Of an extinct bird
Stuck in their hearts

And when the day fades
They fade along with it
Becoming mere shadows

Wrapping their arms
Around their invisible bodies
And their exterminated dreams