The Homeless Man Poem by Deborah Ashdown

Clothes are dirty, musty, too small and unfashionable.
Hair excessively long, infested, totally unmanageable.
Succulent he imbibes from his whiskey bottle.
Not a morsel insight, his hardened skin a pallid mottle.

He slouches uncomfortably, alone in his dismal doorway.
Abandonment of society, he feels he no longer belongs this day.
People with ignorance pass by without a second glance.
In this cruel, demoralised world, he doesn't stand a chance.

As darkness looms and loneliness creeps deep and mocks.
He prepares for night-fall, submerged with-in his cardboard box.
His only hope as he glances way up high.
Is a bright silver shining star, his guide in the sky.

Memories of his past have no place in his doomed future.
He is damned, not acceptable with-in to-days fine culture.
Was spared to live such a lonely, devastating life.
Suffering and pain is a norm of to-days strife.

With pity I stand watching, not knowing what the hell to say.
I gently smile, hand him loose change, I have saved for this day.
Impeccable manners, greets me with delight and a look of surprise.
As I turn to walk away, tears fill my blue sad watery eyes.

I admire his strength and courage, it's society I damn.
Stood before me is an example of power and integrity with-in this man.
I take my hat off to you my homeless friend.
I hope you achieve your desires and yearned for fulfilment in the end.