Our Homeless

I was born in the West,
but grew up in the East.
I’ve seen pain and hunger,
and dying people at my feet.

I’ve seen several people shot,
with drunks on the street.
People in cardboard houses,
for shelter as they sleep.

This here is Los Angeles,
Skid Row is the name.
They’re rejected by their families
for embarrassment and shame.

They cry out for our help,
we just turn and walk away.
They can’t always help themselves,
so they stay homeless another day.

Some of them are drifters,
they don’t go by any name.
They use drugs and alcohol,
to help numb their hidden pain.

Some walk around in circles,
without anything else to do.
They get lost within themselves,
and sometimes look confused.

They’re forced to face the elements,
just existing as they do.
They tolerate what they can’t change,
as a way to avoid what’s true.

Being homeless in Los Angeles,
can be shocking and disturbing.
Some just lost their purpose,
while others just gave up the fight.

The streets become their outlet,
to the only life they know.
Their troubled souls are helpless,
to the dangers that aren’t known.

All of us live our lives,
with baggage and stories to tell.
Ignoring what you cannot see,
means someone’s life is in hell.

Our society is our homeless,
some, a paycheck away.
Wouldn’t you want someone to help?,
if you became homeless today?