Tired, But Cannot Sleep. Poem by willow moon pearce

I really do not need that much in life.
I have a small refurbished house, loads of books
And an eccentric cat and dog, with a comfy bed.

I am powered each month by two modest pensions,
Which keeps me in important things and bills, always on time.
The horrors to me in life have always been homelessness,
Poverty and an uncaring Clique of the rich and upcoming.
You know, the noveau riche, who dispose of the sights and scenes
They see with getting a new toy and a resounding ' why will not the lazy
bums work'?

Nobody wants to be homeless or sick, with
A sense of shame that drives them to the institutional
Shelters, parks or a shop front doorway.
We will not live forever, but will we leave them any legacy to help them?
Instead of the filth, degradation and insults that is their day.

To me it is like banging your head against a brick wall.
It continues - what will you do?