Stench Of Urine

Stench of urine,

Cardboard shacks,

Shopping carts,

Tattered clothes,

Hand-me-downs from the dumpster I suppose.

 

Rummaging through waste baskets,

Feasting on tainted food scraps,

Hiding in the shadows,

Sleeping on steam grates,

Misused,

Abused,

Something less than human.

 

Left for dead in the cold,

Filth in the form of flesh and blood,

But have you ever looked into their eyes,

Heard their hearts beat,

Seen them cry,

Gasp for their final breath?

 

I’m sure you haven’t

As you stepped over their broken bodies,

Avoiding them like the plague,

Chuckling at their despair,

On your way to your comfortable life.

 

Can’t you take a moment to lend a hand,

A little food,

A little shelter,

A bit of cash,

Instead of treating them like lepers,

Feeding off teets of the man..

 

You don’t know them,

You don’t know their stories,

Their hardships,

Their tragedies,

But you should…

They are our brothers and sister after all.

 

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

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Pain Like No Other

Pain…like no other

Living–wrong side of the tracks.

Dirty and hungry;

Sunken eyes reveal sadness

Under shroud of filthy streets.

Urchins you call them,

Throwaways to be ignored,

Wastes of human flesh.

Where is your humanity?

They’re people like you and me

Children of this world

Worthy of our sympathy

Worthy of our love

You best take heed!

For one day it may be you

That is spit upon.

 

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

 

We Are Still At War

We are still at war

Though it is invisible

To the naked eye

The media doesn’t care

Only the families do

Far away from home

Tears are shed–

With each phone call

Praying for good news

Or maybe no news at all.

They are alone with their fears

 

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

 

Pain You Cannot See

Pain you cannot see,

Can be heard–

In the wavering of words,

Can be seen–

In the worried expression.

Reliving the past in waking dreams;

Speaking to the invisible that seem so real;

Returning to the present awash with anger.

Ravages of war do not always leave visible wounds–

For the visible may be treated with scalpel and stitch.

That which is unseen may be the most devastating of all,

Lasting a lifetime,

Tormenting, demonizing, incapacitating,

Shattering the spirit.

We see this on the streets,

We see this in the shelters,

We see it on the cardboard signs

And in the tin cans held out by dirty hands,

No place is immune.

These are the ones we turn away,

Diverting our eyes,

Ignoring them as a nuisance,

Wishing they would just go away.

Does not their sacrifice grant them better?

They gave when called,

Offering life and limb;

Permitting us the pursuit of our happiness.

Yet what do we offer in return?

Nothing but contempt.

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

 

Peace, Goodwill Towards Men

Peace, goodwill towards men–

I believed this once,

A long, long time ago it seems.

I can still remember her smile,

The love of my life,

Us…hand-in-hand,

Not a care in our perfect little world.

And the kids–

Oh how they loved Christmas.

Not just the presents,

The paper, the bows,

But the time we spent together.

We were a family,

A perfect design by Hallmark.

Now she’s gone,

The years were not kind to her;

And the kids–,

Grown, families of their own–

Don’t come around much anymore.

Hell, I don’t remember the last time.

The gesture of a card would be nice

Just to let me know they cared,

That they remembered me,

But no…

It was not meant to be,

Alone I sit, stranded for the holidays.

This wasn’t how I saw my later years,

Aged, lonely,

Awaiting the ghost of Christmas past.

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

~

Prompt Word: Stranded

 Writing Prompt: Tuesday’s Thinking 17 December – By Jeremy Farmer – The Boi Poet

So Much Blood

So much blood on my hands,

Dried, old, not my own, but mine none-the-less.

Brothers and sisters–I have died with you on the battlefield,

My heart cries with each beat for your lose,

For the sacrifices made over our centuries.

Each of your gravestones is etched with my name,

I am your pallbearer, your namesake, your progeny.

I place the flowers on your graves,

Not for your sake alone, but for mine,

How else could I repay you for your kindness,

Thanks alone seem so hollow.

Brothers and sisters–I love you,

You are in my every thought and prayer,

Take comfort that you will never be forgotten.

.

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

 

Thirst and Hunger

Thirst is not a disease

Nor hunger a plague waged as a personal attack..

The dirty and downtrodden are not animals with opposing thumbs

Foraging through trash bins for food.

Their children are not parasites to be frowned upon!

They love just as you do with the same wants and needs.

Hands cracked and calloused know hard work.

Many toil hard and long for the barest of necessities

Only to fall short, thankful for assistance.

Yet you despise the poor collectively,

Lazy, blood suckers, bums, leeches,

Used as terms of endearment.

Speaking as though you know them or their circumstance

You display nothing but ignorance.

What do you know of their lives, their pain, their poverty?

Many are victims of economics,

Failing of health or disability,

Casualties of familial history,

Deprived of education,

Forgotten or blamed by the very souls with the power to change.

Greed and loathing blind,

Banishing compassion and humanity to the pits of hell.

.

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

Scavenging

Scavenging,

Through trash bins,

Rubbish heaps,

Loitering beyond alley doors,

Waiting for “the good stuff”.

Jagged nails,

Through fingerless gloves,

Sort through treasures,

Maybe a doughnut,

Scrap of bread,

Half eaten burger,

A meal fit for a king.

Seen on steam grate mattresses,

Fetal curl for warmth;

Passersby arc wide birth

To avoid their touch.

Rain draws trash bag slickers,

Doorways, cardboard,

Rags for umbrellas,

Taxi’s thrown sludge sprays the invisible

With cities dirt and grim.

Will they be here tomorrow?

Will anyone notice their absence?

As their shopping cart sits idle

Ravaged by fellow unseen.

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~