The Wraith

Cold, and harsh, icy rain in my hair

Matted with sweat and the dirt and my tears

The only response to my once fervent prayer

The prayer washed away by the flow of the years

The street is the only home I've ever known

My coat shielding me from the cold

A layer of dust on the concrete and stone

Where my bed is the embrace of mold

My feet, worn and cracked, sentenced to tread

The streets so oft trodden before

They call me the wraith of the maze of streets spread

Before me like the windswept, cursed moors 

 

I used to see the faces of those walking by

Those who couldn't spare a glance for me

But their lives are busy, in the blink of an eye

They've forgotten about my bereft plea

I gave up long ago on society

Years after it gave up on me

And now I am sentenced to wander the streets

Of the city that doesn't want to see

Yet here still I stand, in my jacket and hat

Ragged, grey mementos of my past

An unpleasant reminder for those who wish to forget

That society still has its outcasts

Reviews

[Sonus de Animus]

This is a problem that does not often get the attention it deserves in the media. The homeless are just treated as an inevitable part of society; we walk past them every day. Every society has its problems, and this is just a reminder that our society, however great it may be, is far from perfect. The people forced on to the streets are a reflection on the failings of our society. Thank you for showing the human side of this problem, and addressing one many wish to forget about. This poem reflects the emotions of being cast out and giving up on the kindness of strangers. It is a desperate position, that far too many find themselves in. Let us acknowledge the wraiths of the street, who through no fault of their own are stuck in this place. Let us hope we can restore their faith in humanity.

[The Hampstead Poet]

Thank you for your review. I am glad you enjoyed my poem, and I was interested to hear your views on this problem.