I wrote this when I was living on the streets as a teen…
In alleyways where hunger curls,
beneath tin roofs and spindly girls –
life rattles in shopping carts,
old bottles and torn-apart hearts.
Ripped sneakers splash through gutters,
past cardboard castles, silent mutters,
a cigarette’s ember, guttering low,
dreams flicker where the lamplights go.
Yet – between the hiss of passing tires,
the clamour of old, tangled wires –
a hush slips out, the city stalls,
soft lunar silver paints the walls.
A scrawny cat arches along the stone,
nosing hope from scraps unknown;
in a rainbow ripple, oil winks,
the moon bends down to street’s brink.
Just for a breath, the world’s undone –
filth and fury, sorrow spun –
and in that fractured, jeweled street,
beauty and struggle, raw, meet.
Moonlight, puddle-rimmed and real,
shows ugliness is not all we feel;
life glimmers – unguarded, fleet –
in moments found upon the street.
