In a pool of his own urine he sleeps,
homeless, scared, and lacking food or shelter.
Then along comes the law, this sight he weeps.
People turn away, all helter-skelter,
while the rest of us throw most of our scraps
away, cast long and menacing sharp glares.
For what? What does your heart see as he naps?
Your soul and heart should burn wild like flares.
Pretending he is not there, no answer,
but strife. Remember he is still a man.
Most fought to protect and came home with cancer.
Some fraud, not he, looking for an open hand
and I’ll be damned if I didn’t get involved
while you sit there…a conscious un-evolved.
(c) C.L.Swinney 2016