Broken people
litter my way
shamed,
not daring,
to look my way
broken lives,
a shattered dream
nothing and noboby as they seem.
The noise of traffic
blocking out their voice.
Long gone their ideas of choice.
Was it their greed for gain
that led to their dull aching pain.
Many a long month
I have passed that way.
Yet not a one had anything to say
why do they not scream.
And cry
scream aloud
I fear it's because they're no longer proud.
And when winter sunshine
and summer rain
falls down on to their cardboard box,
What do i do,
I look down at my socks.
copyright
PhW2006