PILLOWFIGHT

this is an old poem i wrote when i saw a homeless man try to sleep on a concrete bench. enjoy.

Monday, April 16, 2007

PILLOW FIGHT Bottles in a row End of the day This ones half full ill be ok. Footprints in endless puddles My world is grey same with the rain. days and people are passing Do you know my name? Looking, searching, eyes so very red Using anything to make my bed Concrete slabs, lay my head. The ground is cold, bones old and weak this soul is starving I exhale, inject, beautiful release. Pulling dirt across face A waste hidden under disgrace. Out of gin Let the battle for sleep begin. Rest is a journey Sleep is a race Mouse on a wheel Running in place -.Oliver.- ---------------------------------------------------------- in this poem i wanted to paint a vivid desolate image of an old man junkie who is beyond help. we all have seen him. but we dont do anything about it. we dont give out money anymore because it will probally buy drugs or drink. My goal this week is to buy a sandwitch or something to eat and give it to a less forunate person on the street. not one of those annoying in your face begging ones, and HELL NO not the ones who just stand there and hold a cup or hat out. but to one who really needs it. there usually the ones who arnt asking for much. i think ALL my readers, (all 5 of you) (lol) go out and do something nice for your fellow man. it feels good. and this is what the world needs more of. random acts of kindness. and DONT EVEN THINK about going out and whoring your ass out all over manhunt and call it HELPING YOUR FELLOW MAN OUT. thats called HELPING YOURSELF TO YOUR FELLOW MANS! ok my minions, go save the world!! cupcakes!!!