What is this search for,
when the dirt poor explore
the locked heavy vault doors?

What are the blind trying to find,
when all roads lead to
streets where lonely-hearts bleed through
before they ever get to meet you,

a place where the closest thing to an angel
is that strange human being
who drops off a few essential things
for the scattered flock of forgotten
flesh forms who follow the hollow
and hard streets            
to find a warm and semi safe place to sleep,

where stop signs and streetlights
are the most productive spots
for the needy to plead freely
with cardboard requests
to ease the hunger pains, they are feeling.

What is the point of this struggle?

good old television
or televisions plural because
this shop window has
twenty-two of them
all showing a celebrity
cooking show twenty-two

identical pans containing
the same cuts of chicken
or maybe pork or whitefish
being lightly browned while
no voice can be heard from
the twenty-two tanned faces

smiling out at us and
here the homeless man
watches them all from the
pavement and the rain
good old television
something for everyone

There are shadows along our city streets
That hold the shape of life,
They wander for the sake of going
Seeking our brightness out;
To cast themselves on our emotions
Sympathy and sorrow, a little guilt perhaps
That we carry our light into our homes,
Not to a bed of cardboard and rags
Where shadows can hide among shadows.

I bet your beds comfy,
I imagine it smells of flowers and vanilla,
Or just the smell of clean,
And you have pillows,
Big soft voluptuous pillows,
And sheets,
Clean sheets.
I could sleep forever in a bed like that,
Literally forever,
And I bet you don’t even think about it,
Because it’s just a bed to you,
And it is,
Id probably cry if I could climb into like that everyday,
I’d cry if I could climb in for one day,
An hour or two,
The comfort would be amazing but -,
probably too comfortable for someone like me,
I’m used to the cardboard thats under me,
And Im quite attached to the bag that I sleep in,
Even the smell settles me,
And trust me when I tell you -
It’s not flowers or vanilla !
The noises of the night are my lullabies,
And the crisp cut of the cold keeps me alert,
Keeps me safe,
You probably wouldn’t understand,
But I’m glad of that,
A bed would be nice,
The comfort would be nicer,
But it’s the home that it’s in that makes it special,
A comfy bed - that’s safe, in a house,
A home,
Secure,
Free from the fear of a random threat,
That’s why you can sleep so well in your comfy bed,
Because your safe,
Because your free to sleep,
Where as my sleep can cost me dearly,
If I fall asleep I can lose the little that I have,
Even the shoes off my feet,
If I fall asleep I could be woken with a kick or a punch,
If I fall asleep,
I might not wake up at all,
So your bed is comfy and would be nice,
But it’s the fact you can sleep freely which is special,
So treasure your bed,
Enjoy your sleep,
And be thankful for your freedom.
I’m not jealous ,
I wouldn’t wish my situation on anyone,
I don’t even wish it on myself but I accept it,
If I fought it I wouldn’t be here now.
All I ask is that -
Next time you see a homeless person,
Remember a little kindness goes along way.
Life’s a funny ****** -
There was a time when I had a comfy bed,
In a nice loving house,
There was a time when I would look at the homeless I passed in the street,
Never once imagining that the cardboard mattress next to them was reserved for me
So sleep well good people,
Treasure what yo have because time is fleeting,
Good fortune is a gift,
When you climb into your bed tonight,
Stop for a second to appreciate it,
Just ..... appreciate it for me,
Because I can’t.
Not right now anyway,
But hey -
It is what it is.