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Ashes Beneath the Cityscape



Poor bums,poor beggar bums,
crawling beneath the city.
Your only hope is to keep beating
through winter,
those of you who
like sparrows
may last until the Spring.
And we go on walking into sunsets,
that fade like torn and tattered dollar
bills into the naked evening air.
One corner away from becoming you we are
lost soul of the eastern night bare
and cold shrouded mist of mindless egos
and darkened hearts,left in bags on empty lots.
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Submitted on May 01, 2011

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