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William Sinclair Manson

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My-Poetry / Writings · 1 May 2017

My Poetry. Street Life.

Night falls again,  
where do I sleep?  
Spaces are filling ,  
places knee-deep  
people lying ,  
some as young as ten,  
They are here now,  
they were here then.  
Streetwise kids 
with blackened faces 
mixed up adults, 
of various races. 
Lie in bundles, 
spewed in rows, 
covered in cardboard, 
except for their toes .
Hungry, poor
Clutching to bottles.
Cars flying past ,
full on their throttles.
No one wants
to know who they are ,
kids are dying outside a bar!
Taken by disease,
starvation ,neglect.
No one to talk to ,
no show of respect.
The next time you pass
a human on the street,
say your hello's,
don't talk with your feet .
They are not monsters,
they are down on their luck .
Underneath is a heart,
through a body of muck.

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