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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 © | Year Posted 2018

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Date: 9/5/2018 12:21:00 PM
I have tried to give a picture of someone in poverty and the struggles they live through. Not sure what kind of poetry this is but I will appreciate any feedback, and thoughts how the reader sees it.
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