Homeless
The empty green bottles
rattle on cobbles
when cold winds blow down the
empty streets.
A pile of rags moves and a
human hobbles
to upright, then sways as he
finds his feet.
An old soldier forgotten,
displaced, living under
a crumbling bridge marked for
toxic disposal.
A train passes over sounding
like thunder,
as the homeless are given another
proposal,
to sweep them from sight and
bury them under
red tape and rules from
corrupt politicians.
MPs who don’t care, as daily
they blunder
trying to destroy a nations ambition.
London the city, the home of
the banker,
the star struck, the ‘A ‘
list, all life is on stage.
If you don’t make it, it’s
like a slow cancer
that eats you within, and
fills you with rage.
London - the city that says,
‘you’re arrived!’
You must be successful, if
not you’re dismissed.
You’ll feel so unwanted,
unheard of, deprived.
But you really don’t care as
you go and get pissed.
No money, no address, a
‘dear’ friends’ old sofa
No job and no home as you
slip down the ladder.
In London your friends said ‘Here
you can go far!’
Their lying now makes you
madder and madder
At least you can say you
tried living in London
The place you desired, along
with the money.
Now you are broken you feel
very humble
In London it isn’t all gold, milk and honey.
But you, you can leave and go
back to your home now.
For London called and the
homeless did try.
But you in the Jag with the
money to say ciao!
can live while old soldiers struggle
and die.
No comments:
Post a Comment