Pure Circumstance
God knows each heart that walks the streets, and then,
each sense of guilt caught up in false pretense.
How not to spend a tear at their expense
How do we not reflect what might have been
if circumstance had never been a friend?
If fate or chance might change the future, hence?
Their shoulders hunched, against cruel wind, intense.
Poor scavengers, who some call useless men
will migrate streets, in hopes for scraps of food.
A crumb, a nickel, dime, a place to find
A shelter dry, when frost of night is nigh.
And now I travel home, perhaps to brood
on cruelty of life that bodes unkind
to some. I cannot eat,...tonight I cry.
~
5/5/14
Miltonic Sonnet: For Contest
Resubmitted for Brian Strand's Contest: Mid August Premiere 8/11/18
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