Tattoo Of Misery. Poem by PHIL WINTER

Driven by hunger
Scraping barrels
The disadvantaged roam the landscape
Their presence an unwanted sight
Making folks conveniently blind.

They are the visible, invisible
Beating a tattoo of misery
The drums, their worn out bodies
Waiting for the call of death.

Stripped of dignity and sanity
Clothes they do not wear
Curses they do not hear
Reality they cannot see.

With eyes empty, staring
They come and go
To and fro
They move ahead
The dead
Walking among the living!