Sep 19, 2024
The Unhoused “
Beeath the bridge, a weathered face resides, A tapestry of wrinkles etched by time. His eyes, once bright, now hold a shadowed rhyme, Reflecting stories that the world hides.
A tattered coat, his armor from the breeze, Conceals a heart where dreams have turned to dust. The city's din, a harsh and cruel gust, Mocks him with echoes of what used to appease.
Yet, in his gaze, a flicker of hope fights, A stubborn ember refusing to be spent. Perhaps a kindness, a coin that brightly glints,
Might mend a tear in this life fortune bites. For even lost, beneath the open sky, A human spirit’s spark will never die.
sykog
