Those Without a Roof

Worn eyes stare gently at my shy privilege

 

As cars pass as rapidly as our thoughts;

 

Heavy empathy: tied gently to knots.

 

What is the cause of your blistered visage?

 

Will my spare change truly mend your image?

 

I know you have given more than you’ve got,

 

This has become a sorrowful, messy clot.

 

What must we do to repair this spillage?

 

 

I credit your hands and cringe in despair,

 

At those who pass your gaze unaffected;

 

Limited compassion, no thought to spare,

 

Yet your shape shows we are all connected.

 

We must give to all, none left dejected.

 

Ah yes, that’s right! We must all simply care.

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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