Never Is Enough
Quietly with cap to hand he begs on the street
With Cross legs he waits with a sigh,
Cold in the pouring rain, with his fingers and toes
Numb he shivers on the floor, gingerly
He stands up, stamps and blows the hands.
In homeless days with fate the judge,
A gaunt face tired by health, groaning,
As hunger pangs hurt on the hour,
His stomach bends to aching pains, these
Sharp steely knives climb inside.
Cold floors and sores, the penance of life
So frail and unwell with no bed to rest, with
Cold drafts a dark stranger and taker of life,
As well-wishers pause, strangers to the eye
For Hope is the humble friend tonight.
On the side street with no money to tell
He lives and survives on pence per week,
The social orphan with nowhere to go,
As money’s is no cure, only a divide
And never is enough they all reply.
Copyright © mark palmer | Year Posted 2018