The Homeless Man

Yea I promised you a poem. But sorry. I never got to it.

But this ain't too happy. Sorry for the disappointment. I'm emo. LMAO.

But it's not about me. It's about someone I saw today. Please care enough to read.


The Homeless Man

When I saw him, I wanted to walk away
with a firm belief that he was a fake
but he sat at the bottom of the staircase
with tears streaming down and his hands on his face.
Little quarters and dimes sat by his side
and the people of 59th didn't swallow their pride
for the homeless man who's there everyday
weeping for food and a place to stay.
I reached in my pocket as I walked down the stairs
and gave him some money to show that I cared.
I walked on and I swiped my metro card
But I looked back and I stared from afar.
I wondered if anyone would be more kind
But more people passed and left him behind.
I walked down the stairs and I boarded the train
thinking if anyone ever cared for his pain.
It wasn't 'til the doors closed and I had sat
that I wished I'd have given him whatever I had.
I know that whatever I had could be replaced
And New York didn't even spare one warm embrace.
To me, it wasn't just him, he represented many
who would stand around and beg for a penny.
I sat and thought and prayed for the man
and the others like him who may need a hand.
I took a deep breath and felt this pain in my heart.
Tears filled my eyes, I felt that I'd break apart.
For the many people who would weep at the bottom of the stairs.
Wanting for someone to come along that cares.