Anonimous amoung a heavy throng,
The forgotten and never seen
Theirs is the side street
Strewn with rubbish
Theirs the rotten park bench.

Not so the rich
With regents street
And oxford circus
Ever seen faces in venues plenty.

With two pennies between them
And a long walk home
Despair creeps in
Laying heavy hands
On stooping shoulders

Why hold a head high
When there is nothing to look for
Nothing coming on the horizon
Coppers are only found
At your feet

And even these tokens
Of light relief
Taste like gravel
In your parched mouth
They serve only as a reminder
Of your bitter position
The reality you facee
Of paving slab
And the frozen bites of wind

Light relief though
To those shedding weight
Of loose change and heavy conscience
Ever aware of your horrid state
They try to forget their own
throught world dulled senses

Paralysed by fear
And safe little cacoons
They limp past you
Expressing rigid helplessness
UNable to free themselves
From such binding comfort
They resist reaching out
Lest they come face to face
With themselves.