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.
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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