PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

A strangers eyes and mine meet 

This man is visibly tired, cold and weak 

It looks as though for days he's had nothing to eat.

There are no shoes upon his feet.

I wonder if he has a place to sleep. 

Tucked away in a dark corner on a cardboard box is where he takes a seat. 

Somewhere along the way he got in too deep.

Now his home is East Hastings Street 

What events led up to where he is now 

What caused him to wear a permanent frown

Is it speed, crack or down? 

That has his hands and feet bound 

Were his parents never around? 

When he got lost did he choose not to be found

What if his thoughts were profound 

But society let his mind drown 

Because he comes from a different background 

It's hard for me to truly empathize 

I don't know the story behind his tired eyes 

Was it the world that cut him short 

Or was the ball always in his court? 

I wonder what runs through his mind 

What kind of man is he inside? 

What would he change if he could press rewind

Would he do it better the second time? 

Or was he destined to be a product of humanity's most heinous crime 

To do nothing, is to let them die. 

I asked myself why? 

But then I to just walked on by