How many times have I walked this road now? How many times have I seen the faces of those just barely living? So cought up in there own mind, that they don't notice the stares. They don't notice the glances of those who pass by. Or maybe they do, but they just don't care anymore. They have given up. They have given up on everything good. They feel regected by society just because they don't have a place to call home. We call them weak. But I feel that they are stronger than all of us. They have survived with what little they have. They have survived the forces of nature. They have survived the judgement of the people who walk down this street, living about there lives. While we lauph and joke at those who are unfortunate, we forget who the real survivors are. We forget that while we have shelter; a warm bath; and cell phones, they have blankets and a few dollars. These are people who have been kicked to the curbe like a stray. And then we walk past them, ignoring them and the little dignity they have left. We turn a blind eye to them and their needs. We have become so used to them scattered about the side of the street, that they have become invisible to us. And we forget about them. We forget that they are people. And we are treating them like yesterday's newspaper. Forgotten and alone. This is not the life anyone should live. And I hope someday it is fixed.
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