There is a hidden badge,

Not of honor,

Seen only in the flash of eyes across a room,

Passers by,

On the check out line.

Like pin points of colored light,

Against the glare of a city,

Only seen by those who have eyes to see,

Such things.

There may be a waft of courage,

There may be a sprig of peace,

There may be cold indifference.

Offered in those split seconds

Of recognition,

Till they pass with their badge,

And keep it hidden.