It’s not by choice,
We’ve but the street
For our new host,
In this life gone bleak
It be thus a last resort,
Begs we’d not seek
Wanting as consort,
Held so to speak
Apt be a gritty ghost,
Led we live incomplete
Having lost one’s voice,
Mindful of our fate
Now being without choice,
In a discombobulated state
That be life on the street,
The while this last resort
Be until we are too weak,
To drag our bones to port
In a life of empty options,
That be for we the homeless,
Held fixed to muted notions
Reduced we be to nameless,
Drifting in crowded sad seclusion
We’ve to live as shadows on the street…
Suffer alas said we the homeless
In a populous fashioned by human apathy,
Offered in overwhelming abundance
To a growing number of ignored failed voices…
We the homeless, not by choice!
© Jean-Jacques Fournier