That beggar always
On the corner of my mind
His hat heavy
Holding spared hopes
Him and I are similar kind
Who find
Dropped dreams
Mostly-smoked secrets
And half-eaten promises
While wandering through their refuse
With nothing of ours to lose
That beggar always
Asks me
Scraping at the change of my mind
And I pat my pockets
Full of empty thoughts
That I know can't satisfy his hat
So I smile back
And say
Dreams are like diseases
Some might have a cure.