Unemployed On A Rainy Day
Cold winds, grey sky, harsh tears,
Sing of me,
Without work,
Without value,
Without hope,
Engorged with shame,
Eaten by the pound
In charity rooms
On cold back streets,
With a lecture on God,
For a glass of wine,
The rains fall heavy,
The benches are wet.
“Move on”, snarls the cop,
The pavement is wet,
“You can’t sleep here”,
The cardboard is wet,
“Move on”, prods the cop,
Everywhere cold,
And always the jails.
One Voyce of the World 
Appreciate the support 🙂
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Touching indeed!
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Thank you David, appreciate it
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Another brilliant poem, Chris. Love it!
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Thanks Colin, 🙂
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Not sure if you sae this one from a few days ago: https://christopher-black.com/2016/04/01/the-winds-howl-before-the-storm/
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