Among the city lights,
No one ever knew,
No one to listen,
In the hush, a drop of dew.
Had a little place,
Where he could lay,
After the disregards,
And cursing of all day.
Don't look at him they said,
Hungry? Why matter us,
Born with a weak destiny,
Born in the dust.
Low whispers to himself,
Feeble screams and words,
Weak hands to caress own back,
There lived a cry unheard.
A hollow chest shrivelled,
Caught by rusty despair,
A fool he was,
Spoke to the air.
That lad was often called,
A coward with a dirty face,
Twitching in the corner,
Still hoping an embrace.
Breathing the last breath,
He lived the grief alone,
Bleeding the last pain,
And dying without a home.
Those forlorn eyes had perished,
Halted in death absurd,
He smiled to his last view,
As we lost a cry unheard.
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The Inner Me || Wattys 2017
PoetryA collection of poems written by a lonely girl who lived years back. Highest ranking #58 in poetry
