Homeless London

Cold, wet, this is London.

Heartless, forgetting, these are its citizens.

Dark, freezing, these are my surroundings.

Tired, starving, this is me.

I stare around at soulless bodies,

Hoping to get enough for dinner.

Rain and sleet, it never stops.

Tired, begging, this is me.

Across the street is a warming glow,

Beckoning to me to come in.

But I mustn't, no!

Tired, wanting, this is me.

Its ten o'clock, no more tourists now.

I roll out my tearing sleeping bag.

But not to sleep, dangers are here.

Tired, scared, this is me.

Next morning there's snow,

Joy for some, death for others.

Businessmen going to and fro.

Awake, hungry, this is me.

Later on in the day,

Someone enters my space.

I am shivering with fear and cold.

Hungry, scared, this is me.

He draws something from a pocket.

Is it a knife?

I shut my eyes.

Cold, wet, London is me.