THIS ONCE PROUD MAN

      THIS ONCE PROUD MAN

His world a blur, through bloodshot, rheumy eyes,

With the reek of failure below the city’s leaden skies.

Unlaced boots covering rotting socks, long since holed,

Nobody cares whether this man is hungry or cold.

This once proud man shuffles among the pigeons in the park,

Warming his hands whilst shivering in the doorway of ‘Primark’.

The rain lashes against his weather-beaten face,

This once proud man has resignation set in place.

As the populace rush past, not enough hours in the day,

No time or inclination for what he has to say.

Shunned, ignored, pitied, even looks of disgust and disdain,

Will anybody attend to his needs or his pain?

Did this shell of a man once hold his head high?

Doomed to a life of misery, ‘til the day when he dies.

This once proud man may have had a grand life,

Loving children, good job and an adoring wife.

Who knows the circumstances to have led him this way?

The loss of money, self respect and dignity speed the decay.

Every city has men, who were once proud,

Hidden from view in darkened alleys, shunned by the crowd.

So, spare a thought for these people in such despair,

It’s a long fall into destitution, but, just a small step to care.

Phil Hall    August 2012

Copyright Philthepoet@blogspot.com