A Homeless Man
Those cold hands sheltered in his lap...
A simple life chosen to live, perhaps?
Could no bed be offered though?
Not even a chair?
In that desolate, gray street of the city
frozen like ice, but still calmly sitting
a cigarette is lit
and- smoking, fretting, spitting -
he makes his retreat from human affairs
And so, another lonely story
without any care
shoots a puffy white cloud
of smoke in the air
and I can't help but stare...
at all of his dreams
briefly lingering there
as he disappears
leaving the cold, winter road seem
so quiet
and bare.
And the sun in the sky is
In my eyes as it rises
I look at this guy
As he tries not to cry his
Heart out...
Sometimes we drive by
even though he needs help
The indifference within
is a sin in itself
Only focused on the ladders
we climb and we climb
And Heaven forbid
if you're not to work on time
Maybe he's hungry; he very well could be sad
Maybe bad luck's all the luck that he's had
Perhaps he was rich and traded stocks for big cash
'till the whole market crashed
- fortune gone in a flash
Maybe he thought,
'In America, land of Prosperity,
With so many Christian hearts filled with Sincerity
Surely someone will lead me back to the fun
I'll repay them their kindness - no harm will be done…'
'…But in the Home of the Brave and the greatest of lands
Not one single man will lend me a hand...
When an insult and pocket change is all that I find
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poem by Ray Quesada
Added by Poetry Lover
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