Homeless

Homeless people in London

They lay on the pavement, wrapped tightly in paper and card;

Life sleeping rough on the streets during winter is hard.

 

No food, no money, no job, no falult of their own;

Living on the street isn't their choice of home.

 

Wearing layer on layer of I'll fitting clothes to stave off the cold;

At desperate times routing through bins for something to eat scraping off the mould.

 

Queuing outside a shelter for some food and a bed for the night;

All the spaces full, back on the streets with people walking blindly past, not aware of their plight.

 

Huddled two and three in a doorway, the smell of stale urine in the air;

Being pissed on by party goers who don't even care.

 

Some sit and beg with their possesions in shopping trollies stacked up high;

People with no comprehension of their problems sneer and remonstrate as they walk on by.

 

Some make donations and take time to chat and pass the time of day;

It's often the salt of the earth people, who strangely enough earn very little pay.

 

Perhaps they see something that the affluant choose to ignore;

Yes that's right, a human being, wrapped in cardboard, freezing cold on the floor.

Author's Note

Anything that would help me improve

Reviews

[snakesy_monkey]

What an emotional poem. They're often the forgotten souls. You've just reminded me.

[HorrorMaster]

I feel for this poem. Lots of people now have no jobs and soon to be homeless because of the economy. The world is getting hard now if our money is gone.