THE MENDICANT’S PLIGHT

I live on a black street,

Filled with despair.

I wake up daily,

Clinging to the feeling of despondency,

My heart is decorated with somberness.

I feel voracious,

But here I am,

Listening to the songs of victory,

Sung by hunger, in my belly.

I am a scrounger,

I live by panhandling,

But look!

The streets are desolate.

I stare forlornly,

My world seems gloomy,

My days are reckoned with grief.

They disperse palliatives,

From house to house,

But who am I?

A mere Vagrant!

I live at the mercy of pedestrians.

©Marvy