The Bridge

a sad but real truth

under this old dilapidated bridge he sleeps
many cold lonely nights he sits and weeps
the clothes he wears are dirty,tattered and torn
a young man with a face old looking and worn
he sits in a cardboard box that he now calls home
where it's cold and dark and the filthy rats roam
he wanders the desolate streets in search of food
the taunting the smirks all around him becoming rude
occasionally a passerby will stop and stare
the pain and loneliness he feels they are unaware
he quickly turns and bows his head in shame
this unpredictable circumstance is not his to blame
times are tough and the nights so gloomy and long
he looks to the heavens for help that's what keeps him strong
he longs for the return of the man that he once use to be
memories of those days start to feel him with such glee
he goes to bed at night dreaming of that better life
a house with a picket fence possibly children and a wife
on the cold wet ground he kneels down and prays
until those prayers are answered under this bridge is where he stays