Bitter Squalor

Poverty and rage is all he sees in a furtive,doleful glance, and the brightly-colored lights cannot console the wretched soul of his malnourished,shivering body: bundled up in rags and visible to all the hurriendly and careless passerbys, who seem blind in their own pretense... He rejects the mournful sounds interfering with his needed sleep; and yet,he lifts his drooping head to peak around the wratful trees to assure himself that the wooden and metal shack is well-secured and safe; his numberless doubts delve deep... In the middle of a furious February, winter has failed to invite the generous sun to warm up his frosty home so run-down; an impoverished home in which he repulsed luck that could have turned his life around; his regret is an unremissible remedy: consumed by a wishful valor that ended in bitter squalor....