By William Wilson


What thoughts does he have,

When he has no home?

Sleeping on a cot all alone.

Or what is in the picture of life,

That he can see?

No, fun, no joy, no sympathy.

Or what can you say?

To a man like him?

When the light of life has grown sodden.

No love, no friends,

His home is the street,

Cold and hungry, with nothing to eat.

Plastic bags on his feet,

With holes in his shoes,

Thinking now that he really has nothing to loose.

His utmost thoughts

Holds the meaning to survive,

Doing most anything just to stay alive.

Woman with babies

That are starving to death.

Living in a stench, that will take your breath.

Supplying shelters for the homeless,

Is not half enough,

Some would not survive, if they had it that rough.

A rich nation standing by,

Sitting in an easy chair.

Get up off your ass, and find the meaning of care.

And what about the millions

That are mentally ill,

That are sleeping in homeless shelters to

               escape the chill

Just how great,

Can our nation be

When they are really too blind to see

That they are creating hell,

Right here on earth.

Creating crime and giving hunger a birth.

Builing hotels,

And Halls of Fame.

It seems that making a dollar,

Is their only aim.

How many people have to die

Because of poverty?

Or how loud does a mother have to cry,

For you to hear her plea?

Damn those pretty excuses,

      or what ever the cause,

You show me a human being, that has no flaws.


Copyright Homeless Grapevine Issue # 1 , Cleveland, Ohio