by Robert Hayes
Life as a homeless person.
Another night, the bitter cold
Empty stomach, and things unknown
As darkness falls, the noises start
A snapping branch stops my heart
This concrete mattress I call my bed
A pillow absent, I rest my head.
Hours pass, now dawn approaches
One more night amid the roaches.
Mornings angst, and prying eyes
A mother snickers, a baby cries
Breakfast absent, the search begins
To hunt the trash, and empty tins.
A meal betrayed, spoiled by time
The maggots feed, where is mine?
Charity’s hand, my saving grace
A meal provided, and hope replaced
To plot my course, my daily chores
To beg for change by open doors.
A dollar here, a word to follow
Will this be enough?
Will I see tomorrow?
Days turn to night, the process repeats
This is the life, of those on the streets.
Society abandoned, vanity lost
This is the story
Of those who sleep rough.