Nothing

Nothing is for us, naught at all. We do not

Linger in abundance,

But in servitude to need.

For the greed of the world has denied us

A share most fair.

Are we supposed to care?

They will not ensure

That we eat but despise us

When we find a

Meal, meager, of discarded waste

Their fingers spill.

But we, below the dogs, are left

Forgotten in the night.

And nights beneath the stars

That they consider “oh so fair,”

It is our ceiling when the

Weather upon us does not spare

A drip of rain, or snow,

Or bitter winds that whip and blow

And keep us all awake at night.

But we’ve become to them a blight,

A mar upon their perfect world

Of warm homes and hot meals

And love and laughs to share.

But for us wretched,

Not a kindness found to spare.

And as our days tick tock,

On and on, a bit weaker every one.

For each is drawing nearer

To the final time

We close and open our eyes.

Every morning is a surprise that we

Trudged along through one more day.

And if you deem it worthy

To wonder if any hope for us be found,

I’ll tell you now,

Your thoughts are wasted upon me

Or those who share the burden,

For to this fate we are bound.

And all you’ll find is

Nothing