His Destiny

Cities of painted skies and blurt eyes.

Clad in gags of sorrow and gay

The wild range runs in posh

With hues of dark

But down beneath, a buried truth

Lives a city ruined

Gathered in an amorous glance and annoy

A piece of barren land he adores

For he is unseen to all of us

Bathes in sun

But yes he does exist

And when he dies

With his head hung high

In a thicker crown

Edging his throat

Paleness coming to his body

Then our 'horse-sense' humanity

Calls it the beggar's destiny.