By D. R. DiFrancesco
Shadow people abound,
Faceless and nameless they inhabit our streets,
Forgotten amongst the urban sound,
Left to stifle in summer’s heat.
Shadow people trapped,
Passed by like trash littering the walkway,
Feeble hands outstretched for scraps,
Passersby strain to look away.
Shadow people lost,
Beaten down by an iron fist,
Society tries to subdue them at any cost,
Acting as though they don’t exist.
Shadow people remain,
Vagrants, homeless, bums, call them what you will,
Put a hand out to ease their strain,
Comfort and humanity and faith instill.
Shadow people no more,
Take them in, in body and soul,
End the battle of class; end the poverty of war,
Lift them up, our brothers and sisters, their urgency behold.