The Homeless Have a Name

                                  As she shuffles down the empty street
                                    with her rusted shopping cart in tow.
                                Filled with all of her worldly possessions,
                                  weathered by freezing rain and snow.

                                    Covered in well worn tattered coats,
                                    frayed memories gather in her head.
                              Tired feet ache, swollen legs start to crack,
                            wondering tonight where she will make her bed.

                                As I walk past this homeless woman I try
                                not to look in her eyes, but I do and I sigh.

                                    A young man sleeping in the doorway,
                                    seeking a place to keep from the chill.
                                        Did he ever have loving parents,
                                  has he ever worked, does he have a skill?

                                    Rigidly he lays there barely dreaming of
                                  warm clothes,delicious food and a hot bath .
                                Then the drugs his body craves for takes over,
                                shaking him to the core is this demons wrath.

                                  As I walk by this homeless young man I try
                                    not to look at his face, but I do and I cry.

                                  Old man huddles into a ball on the sidewalk,
                                  hard liquor has aged him beyond his years.
                                Wondering where his next drink will come from,
                                so he can drown out the voices that he hears.

                                  He once was someones devoted husband,
                                    'til he stop taking his medicines one day.
                                    Now he lives alone in a confused world,
                                  all hopes of wellness has now gone astray.

                                  As I walk past this homeless old man I try
                                    not to see his pain, but I do and I die.

                                    Now I'm at home in my warm cozy bed,
                                  tossing and turning trying to forget their eyes.
                                Why did I look at their faces and see their pain?
                                  These homeless have no names I try to deny.

                                Knowing they suffer, feeling confused and alone.
                                Seeing the homeless, do I understand their life?
                                After all were they not once someones children
                                      or grandparents, a husband or a wife?

                                As I walk past the homeless I suddenly realize...
                                these so-called nameless ones could be you or I.