unknown address

[Martin T Jonquille]

Unknown address no zip code
On the streets I make my home
My spirit’s high I must move on
The police comes, Am not a bum
Homeless, tattered body that I carry
My bones, as he said; weak and weary
Boxes packed full of homeless people
To keep warm we sip cheap ripple.
We are, of all colors and all races
Under bridges we find our spaces
We often share what’s there to eat
In garbage cans we find our meat
Empty deaths no time for sorrow
Life is hell, now and tomorrow
This is living I do deplore
This is it, nothing more

Adolfo Gomez-Herrera
AKA Martin T Jonquille

[bobby]

Life does not seem fair. And to think it could have been me. Sounds so painful, woe! Good reminder to count my blessings as well as to share them.Thanks!

[Ward]

Life is not those days that have passed, but those that are remembered.

[czerylle1508]

I was amazed at the poem, such a great writer, a good poetry.
vinyl fence salt lake