But by the grace of god go I

A doorway for his shelter a blanket for his bed discarded, forgotten soul better of dead Begging for change no money, no one cares ashamed to hear the cynics call drunk! junkie! A waste of my clean air! Sitting there shivering brought it on himself? wrapped hungry in a threadbare shawl In empty pockets he carries his all confidence cast out dignity shattered shuffle to the bridge side nothing now matters climb on the railings rivers torrent below he questions, would he be missed, were he to go to jump and fall to turn and flee to give up on life as it gave up on he.i hate seeing homeless people, we have a lot of the in Scotland. it makes me sad. Written January 16th, 2002 © on Jan 16 2002 07:51 AM PST   0 • 9