overpass of the interstate highway,
living with his few fellow companions.
His bad breathe was monstrously atrocious,
only smelling better then the dumpster
where he harvests his daily nourishment.
His body odor, not any better,
since his only clothing is limited
to exclusively what's on his back.
His soul possession consists merely of
the clothes on his back, spare change and a cross
bestowed to him by his own dear mother.
His purple heart, scarcely a memory
of the days of being a brave soldier
performing patriotic war duties.
His pride soared higher than the eagles fly,
yet, this is where society left him
when he came home from the courageous fight.
His past pride now diminished to despair
in thinking that tomorrow's another
day that he will battle for survival.
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