Spare A Thought Poem by poppy miller

The sky mourns for its yellow god that
Refuses to shed its cloak of goblin sackcloth.
Sitting sullenly above the altostratus clouds,
It glares and sniggers downward, unseen,
As a collection of nodding heads huddle,
Doodling their noodles beside the street kitchen,
While paper blankets huddle in doorways.
Their vacant eyes held steadfast on the doodling, noodling clientele,
With their fat stomachs and smiling faces
Holding their bowls in their warm - blooded hands.
The crimson rimmed eyes of the unseen, crouching; waiting on their bloodless legs, ready to pounce like a fox on a chicken.
The lost children of society. Waiting for their crumbs left in the bottom of some fat bellied bowl.
But the mourning of the sun will last long
Whilst paper blankets shred and
The harvesting moon wants to sleep,
So the grey faces of society must wait;
Pecking for worms in the dried up earth of mankind.
I wonder, will the richness of time and love be given to them?