Vagabonds

To some
i am nothing
more-
a stray, wanderer,
        a flea bag

Some look at me
pity-
some look at me
sigh-
         some-
don't look at me at all
some shoo me,
some shove me
some kick me,
some hold me...

i'm the quiet plea of these streets-
some lay in-
lay broken;
some will always remain unspoken.
we survive
them and i
under the raging sun
of the ill filled
paths-
some will endure-
the wrath of a many 
hurried lives.

i am a scoundrel
a vagabond
an empty stomach

we are the infected wounds
of others mistakes-
who will undoubtedly howl
viciously at the moon
every time its full. 

Captured,
before me stands
the genuine softness
of the few ill'ed hands-
puts a hand over me
and we realize that we all
have...
        a little
              trouble
                   breathing
                          once
                         in
                       a
               while