Homeless1 min 353 1 min 353
The scorching sun or the brumal winter
Lays a population who wish something more
Who wanted themselves to be adored
Yet the flowers have shunned them
They were hardened by the concrete forest
Yet they are ever so brittle from their void
Opportunity bleeds away before the arrival
Thus, living the life of melancholy and moroseness
They too feel love, they too feel hate
They too laugh but also, they too weep
They are rancorous yet they have a heart
I may not wail for them but only show my empathy
Some are genuine and some are made
Rags to riches and riches to rags
What stories chooses them to tell
A tale of reality or the neverland
But it will always make me wonder
What are they here for?
Why are they here for?
Who will bury them once they die?