Streets Man

One old homeless man,

Only to be pushed around and shoved, 

One old rusty soup can. 

With no one to be there or to let him be loved.

One meal a day,  

Only to starve and suffer, and to eat what little scraps and crumbs that are gathered,

One late day in May.

The old man sat slumped over on a set of stairs in the ally, looking real rough and tathered.

One group of men wear drunk and slurring,

The little old man weak and tired gave up any fighting that he had in him a long time ago,

One little old man pinned up against a wall and his vision blurring.  

The little old man then found the end of the tunnels glow.  

One dead little old man in the streets 

One little old mans innocent blood on another guilty mans hands