Sadly, he has no place to go!
But all the time to get there;
Perhaps, his fate. For a long time
He’s been a rootless wanderer!
No links to keep him grounded,
Lonely, alone; here and anywhere!
A few possessions to his name
And friends, he has fewer still…
Family he has; he’s forgotten where;
No means to see them, nor the will…
And so his name remains unspoken
Never written with pen or quill…
A forgotten man living in shadows
Under bridges or under the stars
With plastic bags for pillows…
An old coat reeking of smoked cigars,
To keep him warm on wintry nights;
And a bottle of gin from nearby bars…
I see him in many street corners,
Or perhaps someone just like him;
Washing windshields for a pittance,
In early morning; while it’s still dim
As he flashes a mirthless grin
At strangers’ faces; looking grim!
Often I wondered what lurks behind
Those sad eyes; the rhyme and reason
That shaped his melancholy life…
Was it luck? Or a life freely chosen?
For when I look into his doleful eyes
Many a time, I see my own reflection…
Were it but for the grace of God,
A roof exists, always o’er my head
Food on the table, clothes on my back…
But in my life, happiness has fled
Emotionally homeless; virtually alone
And all that I feel, often left unsaid!
12-02-2015
© Vic A Evora
Charlotte B. Williams
8yMy heart goes out to the homeless also. The poem you wrote describes a lot of what we see today. We can only pray, and try to help when we can.
Vic Evora
8yThank you Charlotte. Happy 4th. And to all the homeless out there...
Nelson D Reyes
8yOne facet of man's inhumanity to man so very sadly will be "here and everywhere... no place to go..." for as long as there exists an indifference in the degradation of man. "Les Miserables" comes to mind. Amen to Charlotte. Perceptive, Brod.
Vic Evora
8yThank you
Robert L. Martin
8yHi Vic. Where I live now, I don't see so many, but when I lived in New York City, I saw many all the time. I feel bad for them, living on the streets. I feel fortunate that I have a roof over my head.
Robert L. Martin
8yYes, that would be an awful feeling of battling demons. I feel sorry for both.
J Ann Crowder
8yI have relatives who are homeless and mentally ill. We do all we can to keep it from happening, they always go back to the streets. They have permanent scars. I always appreciate the kindness and I hope my relatives receive it on a regular basis. Some homeless really can't help where they are at. If we could only know their stories. Beautiful tribute to those wanderers in this world.
Vic Evora
8yThat's so sad. I try to help as best I can, not just with cash but a kind word as well. Thank you for liking this poem.