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Sunday, July 29, 2012

A Knife of Ice Cut Through Him

This poem strives to acknowledge the very real truth that, whilst all of us see homeless people on the streets where we live, we often pass by with little thought. We become used to their presence, but still we do not know or understand their story. Perhaps we don't even acknowledge their vulnerability. But there are homeless people everywhere, desperate; lost; cut off from society. For some people, life is about surviving, every day and in all weathers. All too often, we become used to their presence and yet do not truly notice them until they disappear:

By Polly C.

He slept between the rubbish,
They forgot he had a name.
Beaten skin glared out through rags,
They thought it was a game.

They shut their souls to squalor,
He presumed they must be blind.
They thought he was immortal -
They misread all the signs.

His heart was weary beating
But he slept and still woke up.
He lived his life for coffee
In polystyrene cups,

A knife of ice cut through him
For the sky was not his friend.
They moaned about the weather
Then went home at the end.

He wondered what had happened,
Why salvation never came.
He buried deep his anger -
There seemed no point in blame,
Then one day he was missing

But they only saw the space -
Not the silent, screaming claws
Of tragic, human waste.
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