Homeless Study Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Hanging about, sucked into the cycle of loss
Deleted from the family file
They spiral down like moths with burned wings
Down and out from the safety of all that's normal
In plain sight, those children of the dark

They beg in a sparkling city of granite spires,
A city of ships and some remnants of power
Of silver terraces, of crowded malls,
Charity stalls. Most beggars are young,
No rags, suspicions of drugs drives
The footsteps to pass on the street
Such misery appals

The North wind rises and falls,
Between the city's chillyrain-dark walls.

The beggars huddle at the city's feet;
Soon cruise liners will come from the steel grey sea
Will their passengers pass the shadows at the doors
Hungry and Homeless, the pressing voice implores

In the graveyard, folk feed pigeons scattering bread
Beneath the cathedral's eaves
The beggars sit amongst the whirling leaves
No alms to be got from the dead

A young girl beggar shuts her eyes and shivers
What struck her off the family visiting list?
To each, a different story, a different cause
The old one with his clutching, filthy claws
Thousands of footsteps pass by in the rain
Reluctant to take on another's pain

The broken lives limp on from stance to stance
And will they score today?There's still a chance
The wind kicks leaves against the shopping walls
The beggar sleeps. At a last a silence falls.