ordinary people, Uncategorized

The Tramp

Posted from WordPress for BlackBerry.

By Jack Jordan

The sun is bright.
His head is aching.
The bench is hard
His back is breaking.
Morning comes to soon
And morning is no friend.
Another day to get through,
A cycle without end.
He’s a skulking, living dead
Wandering aimless in the night,
With tired bloodshot eyes
That shy away from light.
His clothes are filthy
He gives off a smell
Each weary day
Is a living hell but under the dirt
There’s a human frame
A living being
Who feels hurt and pain.
Daily he must dull his mind
To keep dark thoughts at bay
Desperate is his flight
To drive remembrance away.
What black memories are hidden
In the abyss of his soul?
For surely this broken spectre
Had been created whole?


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