what days are these when we sit to ponder lifes big and small mysteries with tea brewing in the *** and biscuits crumbling in our hands
we sit and watch the colour leach from trees and grass wither underfoot
we gather old clothes and blankets to give to those whose houses are sky and ground whose airconditioning is frost and wind
we dread the winter's count and the summers harvest of those elderly left frozen and unfound
some lose just little bits who needs fingers and toes some lose more and more again we puase to remind ourselves a life is a life no matter the choice of the living....there is a purpose to be found in each soul set upon the ground
so we gather small comforts to be bestowed on those who live harder and meaner than ourselves and then sit in front of roaring fires and suppose our good deeds become us
yet we have treated but a symptom of the cancer that is fed by greed we have tried to answer need but while we give a pittance with one hand, the larger beings of this land, take with both, leaving nothing but grist and sand and lives with little have a little less
it is hard to live on crumbs
harder still when the big end of town is blind and numb
to those who are suffering they do not see the social buffering blinkers their sight and so continues the cycle
whilst blankets and swags and soup kitchens all help something more is needed to bring the homeless, home