Homeless suicidal man

His heart is still throbbing miraculously, the wind is still blowing forth his tired plea.

The birds are still humming
through the buzz in the stale air
he lives a life of less then a true millionaire.

In shaggles and ruins,
he still has a life, I suppose,
and yet this man mourns the death of each rose.

the greyness mounds that dispatch from his eyes, leave him shrivelled and lonely and without expensive ties.

He's crying because he justs needs a quarter, he's starving, yet has no money to order.

Standing on the street holding out a money dish, some food, water and a bed are his only wish.

No home, no family, no friends or tears, theres no sign of happiness only his fears.

Hasn't eaten in 3 days, and he needs to buy some bread, suicide thoughts are filling his head.

His eyes keep on burning, his clothes are starting to rot and smell, and this tardy homeless man is headed for hell.

When will he find the light
when will he adopt those closer wings, even thought he hasn't owned a million golden rings.

Here he lives in an old card board box, living bare foot, no shoes and or socks.

No kleenex to use, he uses his sleeve, all that theres left in life is more shadows in which to grieve.

Hasn't eaten in 3 days, and he needs to buy some bread, suicide thoughts are filling his head.