Wasting the meaning and losing the rhyme

 

I feel for my brothers and sisters, on and off the street.  Life’s always a bitch, but it’s worse when everyone is pretending to be happy.  My most poignant memory of Xmas eve was when I was working for the Shepherds of Good Hope.   I drew the night shift.  Better to be working than just wallowing in self pity.   I remember the bells going off at midnight, that big church in Lower town  which I don’t recall the name of.  I had a moment, a short one, when I thought everything would be alright.  That was years ago and things are definitely not alright.  But we have to keep hope — it’s all we have.  This is going to be a good year.

 

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About Drakakis

Street Poet scribbling to your tired, your poor, your huddled masses; the wretched refuse of your teeming shore, the homeless, tempest-tost ...
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