PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

 

Pick up a pen and write “A STORY from the HOMELESS!”

 

TERESA:

My beautiful,

blessed friend,

who stands tall,

and is beloved by all.

Stands in indecision at the crossroads.

 

The journey of life is not an easy one.

You must navigate turns,

fearlessly avoiding the paradoxical swirls

while surfing the twisting and bending

to arrive at an enlighten ending of lifes journey.

 

With the aura of a saintly woman,

and smiling eyes penetrating your soul.

With charming gentle silent persuasion

you want to tell Teresa your personal story.

 

She has beautiful discerning eyes

that give you her attention 100%.

 

But  make no mistake,

she is sexy,

she is desirable,

she is gorgeously sweet,

and think like a brilliant Geek.

 

To make sense from nonsense,

and arrive at the cause of action

in her unraveling of the mixture

of factual evidence, convolutions, and delusions

of normal living on the city streets.

 

Her charismatic “swag” and angelic soothing voice

can disarm a raving rampaging lunatic

with a happy heart.

 

Her intuition is apart of her premonition,

she could slay an insane beast with a warm heart,

and a well placed smile.

 

Grace and honour are her armour,

to battle the inhuman curse

of so called societies worse.

 

For

so you are forced to believe

from a totally bias one sided social tale

or the reasons for judgement

for another fable

in legal circles that so often fails.

 

JOB:

Job, pronounced Jobe

is quite an interesting fellow.

His continued fall

into an amalgamated ball

of philosophy and unbearable spiral pain.

 

He dresses in black

without the ashes

like that Biblical fellow.

 

Job spends most of his time in chinatown

learning Asian religious thoughts,

to soothe and cool his gaping wounds;

still bleeding unsutured social scars

received in past forgotten community wars.

 

He is self learned in martial arts,

and eastern ways of thought and mysticism.

 

30 years ago

social event beyond his own control

ripped his soul and tore his heart apart,

with the untimely death

of his first Sweetheart.

 

She was Job’s bride to be!

She was a university student with promise,

who died from social disharmonies!

 

She had high morality

protess devotion

in the nonviolent way of Martin Luther King.

 

To try and clear the foul air

of the rising stink

of political stench

conquering our communities.

 

which now brings us here

to the present state of things.

 

Job was thrown into

spiraling dissolution

repetious confusion,

torture,

and afflictions

after the decimation of the only universe he new.

 

He became caught in a prison ring

of powerful crippling memories,

hurt, and debilitating pain;

in a bubble of frozen time,

while the world marches

on to the possible tomorrows.

 

His euphoric dimension

invaded by community fungus and social gangaree;

eating his still living flesh around his essence,

like “Trench Foot” from past World Wars

leaving an evil malodor

after rotting his personal paradise.

 

You are eaten alive!

 

Wallowing in ones own wet festering

blubber of throbbing agony and personal torment

is the way to invite the above disease.

 

Social “Trench Foot” plague its singing it’s

“CONQUEROR'S VICTORY SONG.”

 

Caught in a cyclic web

forever bending

with no resolution

or restitutions

of solutions pending.

 

Coming from a sickled pass

within its bending

to a sickled futured

without any mending.

 

Job’s life’s journey

was built on a mobius strip

without and ending.

 

As far as he was concerned,

armageddon had arrived at his front door!

 

With the death of his hopes and dreams,

he was forced to seek refuge amongst the homeless.

He became snared ever since

in a paradox of pity and pain.

 

Now poor Job’s is trapped in a time warp of the past,

and is about to die

with no one to cry.

But everyone is to blame,

for lessons in enduring pain.

 

His life is tied up like a molecular knot.

Job in his confusion

hands a gifted weapon to his foes;

“are you insane?”

 

His life follows a spiral

paradoxical decent

into singularity.

 

As his world vanishes

beyond the event horizon

where Job ceast to exist

eventhough he is there.

 

Welcome to the Homeless Blackhole!

 

SOMETHING TO CONSIDER:

Teresa

you are gifted my child!

God has been watching you for awhile.

 

It is all around you,

it’s before you.

Don’t you see it?

A chosen task knocks at your door!

 

You are a self created sociologist,

schooled in the ways of psychological listening

you are perfect for the unclean task,

the doomed Homeless need their story told.

 

So pick up a pen,

and transform yourself.

Be a knight of valor

in wielding powerful life changing words.

Except your fate and God’s grace.

 

Take both your feet,

and place them on God’s track

to follow the enlighten path

to tomorrows fulfilment.

 

Record the Homeless legacy,

and tell their untold story,

you could possibly call it;

“A STORY from the HOMELESS!”

 

You are all they have got

before the Grim Reaper pay a visit

knocking on the Homeless door,

and takes a poor pathetic vagabond’s soul once more,

and mankind lose all the treasures

of another vagrant’s life.

 

Everyone needs their story told,

for everyone needs a legacy to unfold.

To die

homeless,

alone,

in the dark silent cold

is sacrilege.

 

The unemployed is not counted ,

they have no statistics,

and therefore does not exist.

 

To die alone and unnoticed

without a whisper of your name

not even a mocking grin

from the passing wind.

 

The world continues,

oblivious to the lost of your presence.

 

Without observers

you never existed in the first place!!!

 

“If a tree falls in the forest,

and there is no one there.

did it make a sound?”

 

Who will notice that Job is gone?

his three fellow Homeless?

 

They will light a few candles

from a DOLLARAMA store,

share a few drops of tears,

maybe even a beer

at the end of the month,

say Job’s name for a few more days.

 

But the four horsemen

will ride to a few more calls

for there names is on Death’s secret list too.

 

Job’s friends are up next!

For they travel the same path of destiny,

down life’s unforgiving journey.

 

In suffering the same fate,

they will shortly be gone

for the Grim Reaper is never late.

 

With only the silent deaf mute wind as a witness,

and no one to whisper all there names

in declaring their existence.

 

The Homeless,

need to be noted has having lived!

 

Teresa my dear beloved friend,

you seek refuge in the Homeless unholy sanctuary.

To protect yourself

from being swallowed up by someone else,

to elude in bartering your existence.

 

Although

you’re a gorgeous Pageant Queen,

your other dimensions

you refuse to leave.

 

To sell your soul,

and suffocate yourself for social currency.

 

You forsake your social fate,

from the communities Oracle.

 

To not deny yourself,

and be obediently transformed

into a pretty little shiny gear piece;

but still an insignificant replaceable cog

in a ginormust social machine.

 

Eventhough

“One Dimensional Woman” was a play written for you,

it is a part which could never be played by you.

 

Your long search

has brought you to this place of reckoning

to find a secret treasure in a most unusual place.

 

The “pearl in a pig’s snought”

is the treasure you seek;

the noble human thing in a cesspool of sin.

 

The humanity within Humanity

is the prize that glimmers in your eyes.

 

So

take a pen,

record an unwanted piece of history

then collect your chunk of gold

as the story foretold.

 

The homeless will matter now,

because they will truly exist.

 

For it may calm the Homeless beast,

doctor there spirits,

and heal there soul.

 

To aid in human metamorphosis

for the next dimension in a higher plane.

 

Where Job can truly rest.

 

Leegal Poet

Wayne Ferron

 

Wayne Ferron . All rights reserved @ copyright