Homeless

A poem about a homeless man I saw on the street

Where is the world,
If not in his eyes?
His broken eyes,
Having seen both
The end and the beginning.
His fissured dreams
And sunken beliefs
Reflected in the puddles
Of obsequious sick around his bed.
His cold bed below our feet.
How to kill what is no longer alive;
His longest tale of sorrow?
Lingering in the sober moonlight,
He knows there is no tomorrow
Loneliness consumes his aching bones.
A shadow in the shade.
He is the fallen hero
In the battle of Cocaine.
A white puff of smoke
On a clear and sunny day.
He has no home and no love
And one day I will be the same.