Mercy Street No.4


Thin looking, gaunt even
The years on the street
Had not been kind.
He was missing an eye
That he’d lost in a fight
Long, long ago
In country.

Considered himself lucky
So many had gone
Far less came home
To the World.

Soldiers do the bidding
Of political whores
Dying alone
On faraway shores
There are no winners
Only God keeps the scores.

He’d done alright though
For quite a while
He’d worked in a truck stop
Handing out the smile.

Bu the nightmares became
Just too much to bear
So he took to the street
To a life so unfair
Where each meal he ate
Was now stolen or begged
By sitting on the sidewalk
Cap out, cross-legged.

A street tramp he was now
As politicians still talk
They sent him over there
But they don’t walk the walk.

©Joe Wilson – Mercy Street No.4…2017

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