Homeless
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 clawsOf tragic, human waste.
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