Broken ( After visit to London, September 2017) by Dave Rendle

I heard the crying of the birds

as music sailed into tragic sky,

passing lonely figures with express

ionless gaze, sitting sightless and mute,

their only comfort a strong weatherproof can

almost naked in their cages, neglected and worn,

faces stained with sadness and bitter pills

the marks of battered existence,

sheltering among cardboard in open view

broken and torn, losing sense of hope,

with aching belly’s, empty pockets

flicker of dreams slowly evaporating,

struggling, drifting on streets of anguish

the pavements they sleep, not laced with gold,

as rain poured down, to lash skin and souls

others  rushed on by in search of entertainment

troubles they will keep as another world turns.

and politicians walk on paths of indifference.

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