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Mr.Heartbroken
Contributed by
Jacktripper
on
Wednesday, 10th March 2004 @ 05:19:51 PM in AEST
Topic:
selfstruggles
|
Mr. Heartbroken
An angry scar faced victim lays a token on the side
A bus ride out of town left empty pockets in torn gloves
A days love is todays drudge to trek along the eastside section
Bury a foot in the intersection of Madison & fifth holding a plea
Hoping to be a sanitations helper scrounging a rich mans garbage
He can manage to find unused ticket stubs & chewed up hero subs
Today he found wheel hubs of a taxi cabs last stand
He rests every can back in place and drags a foot to keep in pace
His face is puzzled each facial skin is connected like a web of misery
Hes a familiar anatomy but an unemployed catastrophe
His mastery is the ability to keep alive on a twenty-four hour day
With a shirt tied away and a jacket shriveled and fray
He has a lot to say but a small will to survive
One might ask why? Well no one wants to die.
No one wants to try and no one wants to fight
So now he has one life line down and off the path
Hes on a wrath of vengeance stating his evidence
Uncle Sams precedence stole from the poor and gave to the country
No hungry money thieve could ever believe his claim
Mr. Heartbroken, was his name and to hell with America was his reign.
Like last night he avoided the shelters and ran for cover
He lied under a salvage dump truck on eleventh and twenty fifth
A paper and a gift: a half drunk bottle of old vintage wine
A waste of time ticks away on a cracked glass worn leather band watch
A dry scotch rapes the throat and intoxicates the stomach
A subtle plummet to his knees a wish to pray to God
A silent nod to his mural; a pee stained cement wall
A short crawl to grab scavenged remains of unwanted clothing
A sorrowful loathing to Mr. heartbroken.
Hes left out in the open with a dead mans toys
Mankinds city street noise plays the sounds of car horns
All his scorns rot in his slump of oppressive abuse
He has no excuse no family, no money, no meal
Its no big deal but then again this is New York
A desolate court of homeless pride a steady course to suicide
Everyday we decide who gets our left over pennies and dimes
They try to find another New York Times ad to cover their soul
Another hole dug deeper into Times Squares surface
There is no purpose to live and no purpose to die
Mr. Heartbroken, why try? Why keep going why not die?
He looked to me with a soft spoken cry and an awkward glare
Because you careI do this for all those that suffer out there.
Copyright ©
Jacktripper
... [
2004-03-10 17:19:51]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: Mr.Heartbroken
(User Rating: 1 )
by ladyfawn on
Wednesday, 10th March 2004 @ 05:39:32 PM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
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this is exceptional, vivid, bless him, bless you, keep writing, your insightful talent shines in this poem, hugs n' love nessa
@->>->- |
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