Heroes are soon forgotten
their spirits gather dust
Frayed   threads of cotton
hanging from old shirt cuffs.

Two am and the icy wind blows
Discarded copies of the Metro
Through diamond merchants ghetto's
Million dollars tucked up tight
behind their fortress of alarms
in a doorway he fights to keep warm
Cop prods with an angry finger
Indicating a crime to linger
  He stands up weary and shivers
Move on you bum move on
Shrugs off the cops attitude
Where too? Would the edge of the world suit you?


Like a plague of zombies they bypass
B the no vagrant zone
    the misbegotten, shuffling kicking stones

He served his country did his best
they pinned a medal on his chest
Came home he'd changed you'll know the rest
The reality is Poverty's a crime
He'd love to work to pay his way
But with no home, address a doorway!

Last edited by Travis david; 03/12/18 09:19 AM.

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars. Oscar Wilde