Homeless

"If America is Home of the Brave, why are so many of the brave men homeless?"

The man on the street

Huddled in the cold

With a hat laid on the ground,

He is begging for money

From people who will never know.

 

Heat rises from the grates

That litter the surface of the streets.

He holds his hands over

Trying to heal the broken skin

And let the blood come rushing in.

 

These people see a homeless man

Who coughs like a dying man

He begs like a desperate man

Yet he smiles like a hopeful man

And he thanks like a gracious man.

 

Rejected by his government,

Ignored by those who he protected

He is a veteran.

He was an honored soldier.

He sold the medals that could prove it.

 

His limp is from an injury

Where bullets grazed a bone.

The burn on his arm

And that scar under his eye

Are from insuring his friend got home

 

But now he is on the streets,

Begging for enough to get by.

He may not look like much

But he served his country well

For people who will never know.

Elana Juli Royson 4-1-13