Sonnet 13

Sonnet 13
Christopher Bogart

I saw him on the street not long ago,
Surrounded by cold stone and wrapped in rags.
I thought it’d been so long I’d barely know.
His form reminded me when memory flagged.
His boyish face bore marks of both extremes –
An innocence he was ashamed to bear,
With eyes that pleaded out in high pitched screams,
Betraying features drawn in stark despair.
I stood upon that city street and stared,
As half-abandoned buildings gathered ‘round.
He called to me as if he knew I cared.
I stood there mute – feet rooted to the ground.
I’ve often stood upon that street to see
Whether that boy with eyes that plead is me.