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Cardboard box under flyover
Canvas tent in an alleyway
Sleeping bag in small caves
That's our home for today

Thousands of young homeless
All down to our cut and cap
A generation of people like us
All over our own English map

We're ripping safety nets away
Leaving them out in the cold
Rotting their young bodies daily
Harming their brave fresh souls

We can take away their demons
Give them some chances to live
Allow them a future to be proud of
I'm sure that's not too much to give
This govt makes me hang my head in shame !
Where is your faith
in this world gone awry?
It got lost
in translation
between you and I.
Words we hear and words we say
set their sights on
mindful play,
and everything that
we are taught
merges with our
worldly thought.
That is why
the Savior said
heed my words upon your hearts,
for that is where my kingdom starts.
Take the good
on your way
in what you do
and what you say.

Take the good
along life's road
it will lighten
any load.

Take the good
and pass it on
it takes the weak
and makes
them strong.

Take the good
take joy and hope
the tools from God
to help us cope.

Take the good
God said to me
for in the good
is where I will be.
Life is like a play,
but there's no rehearsal to it.
It's not like writing an essay,
where you can just change and delete.

Life is like shooting a gun,
once you trigger, it's all done.
Or like squeezing a toothpaste
which you can't put it back into its case.

Life is a one way journey,
once you've done something
there's no turning back.

So live your life
the way you want it to be,
lest in the future you'll regret.
Mornings are not so,
Rain-soaked and painted grey,
Now, on occasion, we are blessed,
With light and warmth,
To wake us from our slumber,
More readily.

The rays glint on the windows across the road,
And dazzle my eyes,
So I can barely see the infinite blue,
That so rarely shows itself,
But instead hides behind tears and mist.

If the sun would only shine a month earlier,
Or a fraction brighter,
Wouldn't it be wonderful?
Perhaps.
But would it bring such joy,
If we knew its light would embrace us again,
And again, and again, and again?
Her body,
The canvas of each poem she couldn't write.
Each cut of a blade,
Each edge of a razor,
Each ink of a bleeding pen,
Each pierce of a broken page
Spells out all her unread poems titled-
'Maybe this is better...'
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