Homeless

8 Comments

Tags:
  • Loss
  • ,
  • Life
  • ,
  • Sadness

    Homeless

    He roams the filthy streets these days
    Scavenging dumpsters for his meals
    His pillow is a stone, his mattress is grass
    The underside of a park bench the only ceiling above his head
    Yesterday's newspaper the only blanket he owns.
    (Financial pages still have some significance)
    Some days he is almost glad to still be alive.
    He has become another animal in the concrete jungle,
    Not imprisoned like the ones in the towering glass zoos,
    Fighting the Beasts of Wall Street for crumbs of glory--
    Heedless of the hounds at their heels.
    He shivers--never warm enough, never full,
    He who has nothing, can pity those who are still
    Chained to the possessions of their pride.

    Before the sunrise, he will have swallowed
    The last drink from his bitter cup
    And reconciled his differences with uncaring Fate.
    When they find him at daybreak
    Stiff and cold, eyes set on 'nothingness'
    He will be barefoot, for someone else
    Will have already walked a mile in his shoes.

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    redbloodink commented on Homeless

    11-25-2009

    wow powerful words Coper.... I know the feeling of this myself.... I thought you wrote about me....

    kdarcy commented on Homeless

    10-25-2009

    More people should take the time to see all that is around them. An enjoyable read on a sad subject, be well k

    Lolee commented on Homeless

    09-16-2009

    What kind of shoes were they, tens by any chance? lol This is a great read...albeit there is a reason for all that scrambling up there in those glass towers! MONEY! Money to buy a nice warm bed in a nice warm house instead of a park bench. But even so, things can get out of hand up there in the tower...it's true. You are very handy with a pen.

    copergirl

    09/17/2009

    Thank you Lolee. Your work is very powerful and apt. You relay your values and feelings, and yes, beliefs in your work. I like your style. Marlene

    wheelsal commented on Homeless

    06-28-2009

    This is powerful. I have nothing more to say.............................................................

    akayakar commented on Homeless

    03-12-2009

    A great ending.

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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