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Hawley Anne Jul 10
Echos of the forgotten children
dance along the
breeze.
With tired eyes and weary smiles
as they
sleep along the streets.

No kind words or helping hands
from the strangers
passing by,
just echos of forgotten children
an
endless
hopeless cry.

Nowhere to turn, no place to run.
Just lonely
damaged souls.
They try to hide or numb the pain
of being left out
in the cold.

Years its been,
since they felt warmth;
most do not remember love.
So the echos of forgotten children
are quietly swept,
under
the rug.

Their tears trace familiar paths
across their
*****
cheeks.
The echos of forgotten ones
that sleep along
the streets.

Its cold its dark,
they are alone.
They fear the end
is soon.
So they numb their pain
in any way
even if it brings their
doom.

The echos of forgotten children
forced to grow up
much to fast,
dance their way
through lonely streets.
Reminders of
their
tragic
past.
star Jun 18
it’s too late 6.17.25 (7:00 pm / 19:00)
i can still hear your voice
still in my head
you said ‘god bless you’
you held out your hands

i’m sorry for all the things i did
i can’t imagine how it must be for you

i’m sorry i left you there
i’m sorry didn’t try to help
i’m sorry it’s far too late

i’m sorry for you and all those who carry your name
pain is universal,
i’m sorry i drew borders,
i’m sorry i didn’t know

i’m sorry i left you sitting in a wheelchair
in front of the stores
i’m sorry i left you for you to leave us

today my mother said she saw you
all the way downtown
hanging with the people doing drugs
i’m sorry

because you were one more person
really not to different from me
who could have been saved
if only
if only

we were a bit kinder

i guess it’s way too late

[playing (idk why): what dreams are made of - ballad version by paolo and isabella from the lizzie mcguire movie]
you can interpret this any way you want but while writing it i guess i was thinking about a houseless person i used to see asking for money in front of a store i go to. i always walked by them and felt guilty all the time, because my family is pretty well off and we could have spared a lot for them but we never did
Hawley Anne Aug 2022
There's a city where people are asleep on the streets,
with nothing to eat,
some of them even lack shoes on their feet.
A city where overdose deaths are the "norm"
People are fighting for the doorways at night to keep warm.
Fentynal is everywhere and the addicts need help.
But with all of the stigma,
they're to ashamed of themselves.
In this city where people smoke drugs on the street,
and burn hand sanitizer at night for the heat.
Where the rents are to high and income assistance to low.
If you can manage the rent here,
there'll be no food in your home.
Moneys not spent on saving their lives,
no its spent on public art and yet another high-rise.
Tourist attractions and random art pieces,
are great when the overdose deaths AREN'T  INCREASING.
We need social programing and addiction resources,  
some good low cost housing or more food supports.
In a city like this what are the addicts to do,
just stay out of your sight,
as to not offend you?
Cops do Illegal searches and seizes,
and your friends tell you about,
the POLICE LEAD Stanley Park BEATINGS.
In the mornings on Hastings Street the city workers come through,
now destruction of peoples belongings ensues.
They can't even protest this or put up a fight,
because the City Workers come armed with VPD by their side.
This city treats homelessness as if it was a crime,
they are treated like **** that is not worth your time.
If you're homeless here dont  expect any respect,
in fact your human rights don't even have an effect.
This city is sick and its priorities need help.
Vancouver B.C you should be ashamed of yourself.
in this country, we waste so much food
in a country where people go to bed hungry
if food doesn't sell
then it gets thrown away
perfectly good and edible food
just wasted
it could have been handed out
to homeless people
or people struggling to provide
for their family
they could've gotten many meals
if only we didn't waste food
poverty and homelessness  
would decrease
it's so amazing what people can do
when they have a full stomach
the work they can accomplish
Fifty years ago, the future came,
built in concrete, tile, and bright lights,
underground station, undergirding the fame
of this city, adding to its manifold sights.

Now the future’s a place that smells of stale beer,
barely lit by futuristic lamps in disrepair,
wallpapered in graffiti, strewn with gear
of the pale homeless who’ve made this their lair.

They, like this chipped, grimy, forsaken place
are left in the dust of our dreams’ mercury pace.
Inspired by this photo I took of a semi-abandoned pedestrian tunnel system near the Berlin trade fair: https://bsky.app/profile/jackgroundhog.bsky.social/post/3lfxjtrxss22h
Thomas W Case Aug 2024
Homeless and roaming the
streets like an orphan.
It was the dead of winter, and
I was still alive—barely.
My ex-girlfriend let  
me crash on her couch for
a few days.
She didn't smoke.
I did,
so whenever I wanted  
a cigarette, I went out in
front of her
apartment and lit up.
One night, bent on nicotine,
I entered the January thaw.
As I had my  
smoke fix,
a man with a  
huge Rottweiler slowly
walked by.
The dog caught sight of
me, and gave me a low growl.
The guy talked to
his pet like he was
his best friend.
'Leave him alone, that's his home;
let him smoke.'
The dog knew better, and
glared at me.
He barked loud and viciously.
'Leave that poor man alone.
Let him enjoy his cigarette,
that's his home, '  the man said.
A small dog began  
yapping in the distance.
The man said,
'Oh great, you've upset that little dog.
Come on, let's go.'
The Rott gave me an evil look, and
sauntered off.
He recognized his own  
kind.
He also knew that there
was something different about me.
He could smell it,
almost taste it.
He knew I was a mongrel
and a stray.
He knew I didn't
belong.
Here's a link to my you tube channel where I read my poetry.  My book Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems is available on Amazon.com
Zywa Mar 2024
The tempest tears roofs

away from attic secrets --


devours people's pasts.
Novel "Two Years Eight Months & Twenty-Eight Nights" (which is 1001 nights, 2015, Salman Rushdie), chapter 2, Mr Geronimo

Collection "Low gear"
Lawrence Hall Nov 2023
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                              Homeless Man Found Murdered

He had nothing
And even that nothing
Was stolen from him
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