Echoes of Homelessness

They live in the shadow of skyscrapers, Nomads of the concrete, without a bell to call their own, no place to lay their weary heads, no softness to sway.

Their days a canvas of endless roam, A search for solace, a place to call home. But likes and between fingers, it slips away Leaving them with nothing but another day.

Their nights a symphony of city sounds, A melancholy lullaby that echoes all around. Rustle of leaves, hum of the street, A constant reminder of their nomadic beat.

Their stories are etched upon the lines of their face, A topography of trials, a map of their pace. Their eyes are a window to the soul so bright a beacon of hope in the dark of night.

Yet still they hold on to the threads of their dreams, A glimmer of hope, a light that beams. A place to belong, a place to rest .

This is their own home, where love resides best.

Thanks

Herbert