Living in a world WITHIN the dilapidated walls of this world,
they roam through the darkness on the very streets only
angels and demons dare to tread.

Yet to these bottom dwellers, those very streets, they call HOME.
Under the shadow of night they live...they breed...they draw
blood, when they must, as a means of survival.

They scatter to the four winds at the break of day, though a few
stragglers you'll often see...getting in the way of the busy,
bustling life, there on those streets.

Streets filled with incessant traffic, deafening noise, blaring voices
and most of all...the self-centered masses that too often miss
the trees for the forest.

Once upon a time they had names, and faces, an identity; an
essential, accountable part of this upper world, abuzz with
energy and notoriously fast pace.

Now, they are merely the bottom dwellers, discarded, forgotten,
living in holes, caves, under the very bridges through which
the 'great mass' travels; living in cardboard boxes, nursing
decayed hearts, broken spirits, greeted with scorn, spit, sarcasm
and contempt...as they attempt to, often, travel back up top and
reconnect.

They paint our fast food doorways and ATM's with quiet, desperate
humility, loss and justified anger, while every worldly possession
(the ones they haven't had stolen, or been stabbed for) they
carry like broken treasure in a shopping cart.

This 'great mass' looks upon them as outcasts, too lazy, just crazy,
society's shame...but oh how lame, since 'they' could always be...
you...and me.


by Mercurychyld
Copyrights