Rough Sleeping Poem by Mark Heathcote

In so many doorways,
so many children
where is the thinking
how can it go on ignored?
Why aren't they safeguarded?
What is their mental condition?
Why all these negative suppositions
they take drugs,
they are drunks,
they are tramps.

Giving is easy and saves lives.
But isn't it also prolonging these awful lies
and allowing our governments
to disseminate more hateful divisions.
Without making policies to help
it continues to be normalised, malnourished,
so what are laws like 'safeguarding for? '
If it isn't for the destitute
the mentally ill,
or those rough sleeping in a shop doorway lay on the floor.

If this were a World War
and that frozen swaddled body in a sleeping bag
were simply a victim of war?
I guess there would be an outpour of help,
sweat and blood, not just when it is -4 °C
so let's get them off the floor until they all thaw.

In so many doorways,
so many of our children line the street.
Where is the town planning the thinking?
How can it go on being ignored?
Looking on, watching our leaders
how these jackals feed on me and you,
rule with the might of an unsheathed sword
a fist un-gloved,
what is happening, my gentle Lord.
Lord, can't we alter the course of this one catastrophe?