Homeless Poem. At A Loss For The Title.
As I'm walking on,
the homeless man approaches,
his twisted toothless smile
only serves to sadden me.
He speaks his senseless madness,
hoping I find it wise.
He speaks of Manson and the past he lived,
grin increasing with tears that never fall.
His nose is lined with breaks,
no different with his face.
His white balding hair lays down to his black beard,
and with the way he coughs, I know he hasn't long.
But his eyes, they're still fierce!
Those blue orbs burn with hatred, madness and with hope,
I want to pull this man up from...