My dreams
do not come attached to
the ideals of my people
or the sacrifices of another country.

Instead I am poor
and mine are clinging to life
the very idea of existence.

Mundane flashes--
not adventurous endeavors
nor flights around the world
this is what richly folks do.

Simply a mingler
someone whose life
flourishes around the bends
of florescent street lights
and panhandling
nearby a farmers market
just after sunrise.

This remnant is few
as these are neighbors
local countrymen
who stoically face
the world's deviation
and deprivation
from coexisting

by the bonds of
agriculture and personality
even as a beggar
it is but a joyous memento
to a world that
no longer thrives.

He sits with aging canvas bags
Draped around him on the windy quay
Where blown from busy parks he's come
Sheathed in crumpled rags, in skin
Seasoned by the salt and sun.

An old man by the harbour-side
Mincing bread in callused hands
And casting crumbs
To a congregation of silver gulls
Which parasitic and competitive
Move in a constant emotional state
About his feet.

And he beats a slow sad rhythm as he goes
In tattered shoes
Amongst the city's spirallings,
Between the tidal, restless, to's and fro's.
On habitual, familiar paths,
Which only the vagabonds know,
He steers his ragged ship of bones
And breaks the bow upon the parting throng.

Iron and steel hugging the sky
Footsteps on the sidewalk all faded black
The train and cars are rushing by
With faces that are never coming back

The lights never die, the frost takes hold
Sitting on the corner of the block
Clutching my paper cup in the cold
The people always pass, but they never stop

Iron and steel hugging the sky
The rays of sun are so far above
Watching the pigeons as they try to fly
Sitting on the pavement waiting for love

The lights never die, I breathe in the air
Shadows of hope grants me some bread
They wonder how much longer I'll be sitting here
and I´m thinking maybe until I'm dead

Iron and steel hugging the sky
I'm just dealing with the hand I was dealt
Been long since I stopped asking myself why
Now I just worry about when the snow will melt

The lights never die, another coin in my cup
I smile as she disappears into the crowd
Thank you my dear, but it´s never enough
The shouts from the penniless are always too loud

When I disappear. Would you care?
I cast doubt on your feelings, for you are not fair.

Shroud hate in my presence, distant in thought
Runaway on the tracks, love can't be bought

Steps of my own, wither in time
Souls of my shoes, dirt covered sign

Parkbench to bed with nothing to eat
Poor beggar child run to the street

Chilled in the cold, drenched by the rain
Think of tomorrow, the blisters, the pain

Two years under bridges, this is my home
See what you did, I am kissing the stone