18 January 2013
A fake smile. As blatant as a crooked smirk on the face of a weathered man. His hands tell the story of days gone by. Rough, ragged and torn. Forever a slave to societys toll on reality.
The cursed comforting concrete pathway he calls his bed. No pillow on which to rest his head.
Knees hit the dirt for one last time as Winter dawns. Will this be his last?nobody mourns.
Drug addict! Tramp! Filth! They cry. He remembers his days as his heartbeat flatlines.
A family, a home, two kids, a wife. An ever generic modern day life.
Depression hit, and depression hit hard, life living on the edge of a credit card.
Debt took his dreams, drugs took his wife, authorities took his kids, Tried to take his own life.
With nowhere to go to and no job to reach. A life was made living rough on the streets.
A penny here, and a penny there. Not much empathy does society spare.
Far Too judgmental and way too unkind. Too busy to listen. To care free to mind.
His dreams turn to ash. As his broken heart dies. Lost in the darkness, here another man lies.
Dignity taken, soul all but lost. Found days later, festered and rot.
A grave for the broken. No headstone for the lost, a single poppy by a tree is laid in the moss.
Nobody is sorry, for such a small loss.
~Larko
Homeless • Opuss № I