This was written when I was in high school and I never thought it was any good until my English teacher my senior year gave me the encouragement I needed to continue writing.
Many people on the streets use old, torn up newspapers for blankets.
Many people on the streets stand in elongated lines awaiting –
a bowl of steaming soup,
a piece of fresh bread, and
a cup of hot tea.
The shelters are jammed packed; many will be turned away before night even begins to fall.
The lonely vagabond, with an empty guitar case, plays in the middle of the sidewalk –
anticipating money that we might be kind enough to give.
The poorly dressed blind man on the corner with,
dark glasses,
white cane, and
tin cup, stands — longing to hear the clank of coins hitting bottom.
The homely looking woman pushing her cart full of her most cherished paraphernalia –
shopping from one dumpster to the next, in hopes that
she’ll find anything to make it through, yet another night.
The many pindling youth running around in their bare feet and shabby clothes.
The many skin-boned vagrants huddled around a barrel in which, they started a fire;
fighting for just a taste of –
a can of already opened beans,
a slab of already used bacon,
a part of already eaten sandwich, or just the milk of human kindness.
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