A Broken Man
When I see a homeless man on the street,
I imagine myself there in his place.
Wrapped in a blanket, on the cold concrete,
a broken man who has fallen from grace:
begs for coins as the tears run down his face.
He's not garbage; he's a human being:
that feels the same as you and me inside.
Besides the obvious, you're not seeing
his hurt: set your preconceptions aside,
and grasp the shame of having lost one's pride.
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