The Gift From Prison
On a pleasant Sunday morning,
beside a river in a park,
I went strolling in the city,
in the dawn just after dark.
Every bench; any haven,
slept a host of homeless men,
who have slipped through the cracks;
society had failed again.
I assumed there’s many reasons,
why a man lives on the street,
but strolling past the sleeping,
means that I never get to meet,
and get the opportunity,
to sit down and hear a tale,
from one of these down and outers,
and what caused their life to fail.
And then by chance upon one bench,
I spied a man who sat upright;
the collar of his coat turned up,
his sunken eyes a gloomy sight.
He hadn’t shaved for quite a while,
and his clothes looked gravely worn -
My chance to greet a homeless man,
came on an early Sunday morn.
I intended to ask questions,
hoping he might tell his plights,
about what put him on the streets,
where he must spend his nights.
And he was more than forthright,
speaking of the reasons why,
for once he claimed he had it all,
then overnight it was goodbye.
‘Three weeks ago I had it all,
a solid roof above my head.
Three meals a day, and fresh clothes,
no bills, no debt for me to dread.
I studied on the Internet,
and also there was Pay T.V.
I also had a library,
and was covered medically
I felt sorry for this fellow,
who claimed that once he had it all,
so I asked him the obvious,
what was the cause for him to fall.
Was it drugs; divorce; alcohol,
that finally took it’s toll?
‘No nothing like that’ he replied,
‘the prison granted my parole.’
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