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He died in a sleep, yesterday morning,
unnoticed, without a warning,
quiet, like people die.

Now he doesn't need their spare change,
he doesn't need their promises
to sort this problem out
before 2025
.

He doesn't need you now, London,
like you never needed him,
he won't bother you anymore,
you won't hear him again saying Please.

He doesn't need you, Westminster,
death solved his problems, not you.

He passed away in his sleep,
he now lies in a warm bed, smiling,
and angels bring him hot food.

But, he wasn't the first and the last,
there's many more out there in the cold

and every death of a homeless
is a little death of our Free World.


The poem was written after learning about the death of a homeless man in the tunnel near Westminster tube station in London.
Liquid courage to numb the pain.
Intoxicated to forget.
Offbeat blood, sent from heart to vein.
Returns with a guest, she just met.


She closes up, leaves the bar clean.
To her apartment, around three.
In bed she lays, counting some sheep,
That mock her, thinking she will sleep.
She hears the crickets’ lonely beat.
Reminding her of creeps she meets.
Sometimes they have a potential start.
But never truly go that far.


Each night dealt with some other cards.
But slowly starts to build up guard.
She puts less time in her makeup.
But drunks continue to pick up.
She joins in shots, hopes to pass out.
But in her head she hears the shouts.
Her heart’s hunger for real love.
Her clouded thoughts rise above.


A newly turned insomniac.
No longer sleeping on her back.
Till curtains peek with starry eyes.
So bright, leaves a forceful rise.
Her sobs like strings of violin.
A void no liquor can fill in.
Despite how much she tries to drown.
The aches resonate with shrill sounds.


Another night, still found no one.
A man enters, two drinks and done.
She questions him, “What is the rush?”
Always pulled into a quick crush.
But never really tends to last.
As he mumbles about his past.
A bartender, like therapist.
As alcohol reveals the gist.


Now drunk and loud, he starts to shout.
Before his crash, he raises doubt.
He talks about, the best he lost.
Always at home, waits for the toss.
She cheers him up, when in a rut.
He gets up again, “That **** mutt!
To see her hurt, curled up in bed.
I held her paw, up till her death.”


The next night, slept pretty early.
He was perfect, brown hair curly.
Her eyes were lost, but not with lust.
Enjoyed his smells, delicious must.
A piece of her, became a part.
Happy to save his sinking heart.
Rescued him, he slept on her rug.
Named Milo, her three-legged dog.
This is one of the sample stories in my new book, "BitterSweet," which has become a #1 New Release on Amazon.

https://www.amazon.com/BitterSweet-Lior-Gavra/dp/0999497103/
I've got a lot of questions
And I've learned a lot of lessons
But the relentlessness to ask 'em
  Always keeps me guessin'
You learn things better the hard way...
Should I starve today
  and spend my money on the lottery?
Or buy a 12 pack and attack another artery
Every day it's gettin' harder for me
But it's feelin' like there's a part of me
That's startin' me to realize
things ain't really like they oughta be.
People's justification and rationalization
Keep me tuned in on a station
findin' life even more evasive.
and I find myself just wasting
all my patience on just waitin'
and thinking in contemplation
When I awaken...
Will I still wander while I wonder
And wonder while I wander
How much longer
it'll be
'til we grow strong enough to see
that what we actually believe
isn't fact
and we've been decieved
everyone will be relieved
That we just need to plant a seed
And a new garden will grow
Like it did so long ago to make today
And in our day and age
It seems that things will never change
But change today or walk the plank
Steady movin' up the ranks
Until I stopped and thought in thanks
to the conclusions I draw and then erase.
Listen to my inner dialogue it says...
Only reason we're breathin'
Is cuz while others were bleedin'
People were seein' the treason
And called together a meetin'
  To declare authority
A reason of ignoring me
A reason of exploring the seas
A reason of cuttin' down trees
where animals used to breathe and live free.
Instead we lock 'em in cages
or shoot 'em with 22 gauges
It's so outrageous
Our worth is based on our wages
We **** to get some bills
with a buncha old guy's faces
And sit back in amazement
With a smile on our face-lift
Wrote most of this when I was much younger...hence the title...enjoy angry teenage me. Somehow I remembered most of it. Lol...
Recently I've noticed
These easternly winds are blowin'
'N there ain't no use in holdin'
On no more... so let it go 'n
find that stoic piece of me
  that finds peace in knowin'
The lowest poet on the totem
  breeds off these heroics
The feast depends upon these moments
However brief at least I know
  the beast in me won't go unnoticed
But until then... I guess it's famine
Rid my life of glitz 'n glam
'N all the hype that never happens
Get it right... the somber dampening
Of moods begins to shift gears...
So lift beers
And give cheers
To the silence of the evening
Blinding sirens creeping
Up the mile-high long ceilings
But liven up
I've said too much
Instead I'll lie here bleeding...
Alive and well,
Well, time will tell
I'll swell abrupt
I'm feeding...
Off all the wrongs
That made me right
This song...pause...(breathing)
Then proceeding, to the next verse
No chorus, just repeating
Of course there's an elephant in the room... and it's stampeding
A forceful tug of it's tusk to adjust
Its just a subtle shoulder shrug
Avoidance of annoyances
A poignant bliss so effortless..ly crafted   off relentlessness
Overtired, restlessness
Just exists
The antithesis... is this the best it gets?
so rest assured
that lessons learned
from this existential messenger
may be best left unheard
I'm in tuned with
the moonlit
dew drip
when June splits
the year in half
I left the window cracked
so the wind would have
a clearer path
Can you feel the draft?
Can you feel the laughter
being built up
glasses being filled up
after
years of practicing
the mastery of his craft
the battery's not everlasting
it's a balance act in fact
to take the good with bad
and have a meaningful impact
Leading sheep to water
Counting horses
sleep at last
Take a sip and pass
And saddle in
Cuz it's a blast
See it's these demons I've been battlin'
And up til now I've handled it
But it seems as though I've had enough
So it's batter up
Lather up
These buttercups
And roast em with some butternut
Squash these so-called wonder struck
Losers.... their all runners up

— The End —