Transit camps that look like concentration camps.
Fenced in as cattle.
No gas chambers to be seen, no gas fires either.
The people get colder.
Younger and older.
They're full of lost and lonely souls.
Women, and children.
All the same goal.
From a home that's unstable, to a missing table.
Complete with Gingham table cloths, brilliant white with squares on.
The message is nobody cares on our planet.
The windows are catching the glint of the light.
The windows hang open, all day and all night.
They're nowhere in sight.
The windows that is.
No windows, no doors, just fences.
Not often daytime.
More often night.
This Skid Row is full of children that cry.
Some of whom die.
Too many in fact.
Some born in transit.
Too many are stuck.
The world turns it's face away.
To the displaced just another day.
(c)Livvi