I met a man today, he shared with me
his woes, of how he tried his best to live
among the sadness in the square.
To be so alone, sitting in a turmoil
of secret thoughts, negative ones at best
it breaks ones heart and kills any joy.
At night he wandered with pen and pad
trying to capture words from the air,
that a passersby would leave among the
squalor laying there.
Feeling sorry for their tears as nights
of calm and bliss are now long gone,
in the shadows on the concrete lay
abundant souls in despair, who shared
a word or two of their past lives.
And how they once were
someone of repute but now
were struggling to survive
among the cats and rats who
chased each other in the square.
He wrote and wrote until his
fingertips were worn bare, and
skin peeled from the tips as a
reminder of the many souls that
share a tale or two from whence
they came, and of family’s who once
cared, but now shunned for what
happened and put them
all out there.
In fear they tread with the only
motivation they have, an option
in their world is to grasp for it,
the offer of life worth living, dangles
before them with each step they
take while sinking into the wither
world so far away.
He cried out loud oh gods
where are you now to help them
from their woes and losses that
put them there, among the vermin
and garbage laying strewed about
this lifeless square.
Cardboard huts abundant lay
among the desperate souls
at night, who tried to sleep
without being killed or
beaten in the square.
Their drug was simple kindness
trying to survive from thieves and
murderers who wanted all their wares.
The night was desperate as the poet
penned in wonder of these lost
survivors lingering under the
Like shadows on a wall they passed
into the lifeless night as lost
wandering spirits, who once loved
life but now were outcasts from
their families who once loved
them and cared.
Now they sink into the depths
of despair and squint an eye
to the uselessness and shame
of it all.
© Copyright Vincent Moore 2012. All Rights Reserved