Homeless
The neglected,
feeding off the
coldness handed
to them
Having no where
to go,
Their future so
grim
Watching, all of
the people unknown
Hurrying to their
jobs, then hustling
on home
Their lives,
filled with sorrow
and mistakes
Memories of
their love ones,
what joy that
creates
A joy that
can keep them
warm in the cold
Their memories
so priceless,
more precious
than gold
These people
didn’t ask for
the lifestyles
they live
Their spirits
fast fading
what pain that
it gives
They hope
that somewhere,
out there exist
A solution for
the problem,
A place for the
homeless
Written in Queens, New York -Circa 1993
Copyright © Marquis Mc Mills-Cooper | Year Posted 2013
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