He's just a person who finds happiness in nothing but hope

and escapes the clutches of poverty with nightly dreams.


He's just a fighter who is content to wait at the intersection

for a spare bit of change that he knows will never come.


He's just a child, stubby fingers caked in grime

brushing the heels of fat, well-fed figures passing on the street.


He's just a boy who's fallen through the cracks

beaten flat by the stampeding feet of oblivious cows.


He's practically a baby with no roof over his head

and no nightlight except for the city neons.


He is innocence, helpless and in desperate need

of a miracle or perhaps even an explanation.


He is exhausted; his tiny shoulders crumple beneath the world's weight

and he closes his eyes forever, hoping for better luck in Heaven.

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