scorched concrete broken bottles
bus fare not enough rain comes
huddle in the mass of 300 cots cries for help
a man is lost behind himself he now sees
in front of him are wading genteel lakes
his hands metaphorically cut off at the wrist
closing his eyes he dreams of hills
opening them again he seeks to seal a reality
that comes in colors mainly blues and blacks
his mind aloof with a potion of castles in a foreign land
where the weather is gentle and his feet kiss the sand
in the banks of a river holding the dusking sky
number 48 is called to sit at the chair
we don’t have room for you try back next week
he looks down and looks up again
out of the building to sidewalks of pain
three blocks from Wall street
the birds start to sing the river is placid
the hills are rolling skies are all yawning
the fire she roars inside of the castle a new king explores
words less spoken 
Oooo that is excellent!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Violet 🙏💓
LikeLike
Utterly tragic… and yet, no-one is denied a dream.
LikeLiked by 1 person
The beauty and grace of spirit resilience ✌💓
LikeLiked by 1 person
So tragically sad. From time to time…when my girlfriend and I, go for a drive by Downtown – we pass by Skid Row and it just brings me tears how our system can deny their dreams of finding a place for the people to call a home. Powerfully written poem.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes its sickening thanks for reading Charlie alot of what I write revolves around this issue. It’s very close to my heart.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You are welcome.
As a matter of fact, I knew this friend I use to go to high school with. He is I think homeless and it sadden me so much because he was doing so well and had a great job. I don’t know what happen, but from time to time I still see him though when I’m driving to go run errands. I drive around to see if I still see him and he is gone by the time I circle around. One day, I want to talk to him and buy him lunch. 😦
LikeLiked by 1 person
Pingback: Photo prompt round-up: Castle #writephoto | Sue Vincent's Daily Echo