Reared in the makeshift milieu
of the roadside squalid hovels,
They are mired in a motivational paralysis
and stranded on the fringe of the society.
With all their passions gone and
oblivious of their obscure origin
They live on misguided beliefs
unable to break free of the shackles
of tolerance and indifference--
World-weary with tattered souls,
they’re dwellers of abandoned
buildings, park benches and
the back alleys of Chicago.
Unmindful of any gods
nor the heaven or hell,
their whole life wraps around
getting the next meal and
a place to sleep for the night.
When a new sun rears its head,
these forlorn shadows rise up
from the grimy walkways
laying bare the grisly faces
of the dark corners and
the mildewed walls under
the bright shafts of the
apathetic light of the day.
Battered and jostled by
the harshness of life
they rise from underneath
timeworn overpasses and
sullen subways
gathering the meager tools
of their ragged existence and
disappear into the misty dawn.
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