Deciet

We walk from place to place,

Yet we go nowhere,

For we do not belong,

We are treated as pests,

In the New York sewers,

Kicked away with nothing,

We ask for something, anything,

And at the end of the day,

We look in the tin can,

And find two dollars and three cents,

Oh what a relief it is,

To know that I will be filled,

For the night is cold,

And my walls are thin,

I eat and crave for more,

Yet I know that I will not,

For tonight I was lucky,

Unlike the ones down the street,

Who fell asleep and never awoke,

For they had no warmth,

And no blanket,

But how fortunate I am,

For I have a blanket,

And some sun warmed bricks at my back,

And a pile of hay,

So I will awake and try again,

I will walk to the edge of the street,

And ask for more,

Anything is worth a piece of home,

Food my only motivation,

Yet people walk by,

Sometimes in a large circle,

As if I smell bad,

But I probably do,

And they walk by thinking that they know,

They don’t,

If they lived on the streets for a day,

They would die,

For they are so used to a lavish living,

That they would not survive,

And I feel pity,

For such was I on my first night alone,

And yet I still find comfort within myself.