Black Mark

In the realm of constant vigilance,
Where shadows cast doubt upon the unusual,
Some navigate a world far from benign,
Shielding themselves from looming threats.

Anxiety wears many faces, from the self-righteous bigot,
To the overzealous guardian of order,
And the entitled fire fueled by masculine hormones,
Each a harbinger of potential violence.

I strolled towards the corner café,
When halted by a vigilant sentinel,
Invasive queries pierced the air,
A reminder that tranquility remains fragile.

Violence's specter lingered, albeit dim,
Yet ever present, a cloud overhead,
A dance with shadows, an unwelcome partner,
A tango of caution against the backdrop of the mundane.

A new dawn unveiled a different scene,
A man, barefoot and dejected, rested by the roadside,
Locked out of his life, stranded in vulnerability,
Unforgiving pavement his reluctant seat.

His plight mirrored the street's past encounter,
A reflection of the unyielding tension,
The guard's gaze could turn from query to scorn,
Two souls, divergent yet linked by skepticism.

Both labeled misfits in the eyes of authority,
Pawns in a game that wields suspicion as a weapon,
Their narratives, a testament to life's kaleidoscope,
Stories woven with threads of defiance and resilience.