Across the Tracks
Curled up in the dead of night,
The sense of sight is stripped away,
The distant train warns to make way.
Shaking the ground, invoking fright
Under the bridge, they sleep tight
Garden of hunger, the bodies unfold.
In vain they struggle to ward off the cold.
How I pray, hoping they will be all right.
In the gallows of volition the cages sing,
“Where will my next meal come from?”
Their home where the shadows skulk ;
Gathering blankets and all I can bring,
Across the tracks to the slum
A failed economy, presented in bulk.
The writing challenge for this week, Time for Poetry, led to this poetry creation. During my internship, I spent a few nights working closely with the homeless citizens of where I currently live. We gave them blankets and a hot meal but I walked away wishing I could do more.