5th Avenue

Someone's Son-
His dark eyes speak the majesty of his soul.
One can tell he's worn a heavy cloak of fears-
And seldom felt the gentle touch of a kind word.
The music of life weaves about him - lingering-
Never to fall upon deaf ears.

He eats his paper breakfast -
Chewing only halfheartedly; staggering-
Washing it down with a swallow of his soul.

Joys of youth forgotten-
Shrouded in the cobwebs of his confusion
They no longer matter in his lackluster world.

Surely there once was a name
that suited him better -
but the countless, faceless passing through
refer to him as "5th Avenue".