Wasteland

By Steve Cavin

For every one of us

Who broke through,

There are a hundred more

Behind the wall.

Every one,

A voice worth listening to.

Every one,

A gift meant for us all.


What becomes

Of the bell not rung,

The dish untouched,

The light unseen?

Chained to jobs,

Or situations.

Left behind,

The might have been.


And if they sang,

You didn't listen.

And when they knocked,

You closed the door.

Who shows up,

And who is missing.

Few are the chances

Offered the poor.


Some will win,

And some will lose.

Some will gain,

And some will pay.

But missing from

The bustling crowd,

Are those who never

Got to play.