The Boy In The Gutter Poem by Dee Gey

Pair of eyes that mirrors a lonely soul,
with a crying face but no sound at all,
a wandering waif and so disheveled,
clad with filthy shirt and defenseless feet.

Hunger stricken one wandering the street,
frail little body consumed by sun’s heat,
and on cold lonely nights he will come home,
to an unwalled curb which he call his own.

A curly boy unclaimed and forsaken,
running errands he can make a living,
or if not from alms his hands could receive,
from someone’s pocket he would surely pick.

What choice to survive lies for him to make,
the saddest fate he would have to accept,
to nourish hungry belly decent feed,
to dampen dry pale lips with a cold drink.

From a normal life he had been denied,
but with ignorance not a bit deprived,
a lesson he learned from this society,
just the alphabet of hostility.

A heart not with envy this lad had kept,
but tiny growing seed inflamed by rage,
the poorest of poor- he weeps not with shame,
but defies poverty that rich stood to gain.

Wishes no more to stars of the evening,
for sorrow engulfed his entire being,
he lost the faith from much equality,
driven disrespect to morality.

To each passersby he earnestly begs,
’til one day air of death extended his,
into this portal of the present state,
he discovered - an exit to escape.

To the gutter the boy huddles a sleep
little heart’s laments never will be heard,
an innocent structure covered by grief,
“what a lonely sight”, that’s all can be said.

Countless of him roaming off the street,
not a pity but blame is all they get,
pair of eyes that mirrors a lonely soul,
with a crying face and no sound at all.