The Concrete Calls My Name

My hopes, my dreams, I cannot keep,

With no home, I cannot sleep.

My future, a rambling mystery,

A wanderer, without a home, I will be.

///

No one to help, no one to see,

Just a homeless soul in misery.

A future that’s so hard to see,

My home, a distant memory.

///

I wander the streets with no place to go,

Searching for a place to call my own.

The concrete calls my name,

A hard and unyielding bed.

///

The stars shine brightly on my face,

But I’m still without a place.

My heart is heavy with my disgrace,

I’m lost in an empty space.

///

A home is something we all seek,

But I, a wanderer, so meek.

Have no place to call my own,

No place to rest my weary bones.

///

No choice but to sleep on concrete,

No one to care, no one to heed.

The world turns its back so discrete,

And leaves me in the dark to bleed.

///

There’s no one here to hear me scream,

A figure lost in a sea of dreams.

My fragile body and broken wings,

A silent plea that no one brings.

///

The streetlights shine upon my face,

A reminder of my empty space.

A world of injustice and despair,

As I struggle to make it there.

///

I have no home to call my own,

No shelter from the chill of the unknown.

The cold winds of night,

Leave me without a light.

///

The concrete calls my name,

A reminder of strength and no one to blame.

A hard and unyielding bed,

It’s here that I must stay and forge ahead.

///

No one to hear my silent plea,

No hope of a better destiny.

The night brings a cold and bitter breeze,

As I lay on this hard concrete.

///

My empty stomach cries out in vain,

For a taste of something more than pain.

But I’m too tired to meet the strain,

For I am without a home.

///

A poem by Naya Lizardo