In a place
Which I know not
The streets' souls
Are put at last
To rest
Most though
Remain uncertain
As their own
Parent is
Forced to turn
Them away
Away, not
To the comforts
Of HOME
Or supporting pay
And they lack
The initial education
To which status
Could be affixed to
We eat from
The same food
And intimately
Share a space
They bare
Themselves in hope
Of seeing through
Our eyes
The beauty
Which they have
Believed themselves
And hold fast to
I see them
With watchful eyes
Observing perhaps
What I once was
But am not.
-Dad
