The homeless cannot sleep on cold nights, they gather around a burning barrel, men, women and children, forgotten, shattered and despised. In the distance, a baby cries. Begging for food, living on the streets, no jobs, family no longer sound.
Government talks end up in contradictions, poverty is the prediction. The spirit freezes, fruit of labors rot, life squeezes and struggles persist. Bad luck smothering heart and soul, hope ceases to exist.
Shifting winds turn into storms, will the world grow wiser or beaten back into servility? Trust departed, a cardboard box in the streets is where the homeless make their beds, hope disappears and the future appears dead.
Love and Peace
Elizabeth
©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree
