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.
I am not a silent poet 