Street Corner

Alligator skin and button eyes.
The devil himself would cry
at seeing such a man.
Twisted hand held out in despair,
begging for a pittance.
Gaping wound of hunger
weeps out injustice spent for a dime.
Cardboard castle and newspaper
bed against a bitter cold blast of truth.
Breath held tight in defiance to a
storm of unrepented sins.
Again, and yet again I say,
but for the grace ….
Time turning orange to brown,
fingers aching blue.
Discarded man, hunched figure,
a pile of rags upon the sidewalk.
Head bowed low, not in contrition.
Empty shell with hollow stare.
Words of ice melted by the fire
of unforgiving masses.
No one sees, no one cares.
A procession of woe slowly
spirals ever downward into
a whirlpool of the damned.
Tear stained vision of
impassioned pain, forever cursed
to walk this earth alone,
calling street corner home.
But for the grace …