Civil Casualties…#97

 

Civil Casualties…

The homeless cannot sleep on cold nights,

they gather around a burning barrel, men,

women and children, forgotten, shattered

and despised. In the distance, a baby cries.

Begging for food, living on the streets, no

jobs, family no longer sound.

 
Government talks end up in contradictions,

massive poverty is the prediction. The spirit

freezes, fruit of labors rot, life squeezes and

struggles persist. Bad luck smothering heart

and soul, hope ceases to exist.

 
Shifting winds turn into storms, will the world

grow wiser or beaten back into servility? Trust

departed, a cardboard box in the streets is

where the homeless make their beds, hope

disappears and the future appears dead.

 

©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

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