RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Twinkling stars of poverty's eyes, stay stranded in
my mind, watching the depravity of lives starving
inside for companionship.
Tattered images beginning each day with eyes of
dismay at having woken again in an alley of a rich
city, no one to care for them.
Alien sounds ringing through their minds, pulling
unwanted thoughts of comfortable homes and families
only wished and hoped for on earth.
Twilight settles on them every day without ever
having made anything better in their lives.
Shining stars only reflecting the poverty of their
every breathless, unkempt hunger pang of remorse.
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