He's just a person who finds happiness in nothing but hope
and escapes the clutches of poverty with nightly dreams.
He's just a fighter who is content to wait at the intersection
for a spare bit of change that he knows will never come.
He's just a child, stubby fingers caked in grime
brushing the heels of fat, well-fed figures passing on the street.
He's just a boy who's fallen through the cracks
beaten flat by the stampeding feet of oblivious cows.
He's practically a baby with no roof over his head
and no nightlight except for the city neons.
He is innocence, helpless and in desperate need
of a miracle or perhaps even an explanation.
He is exhausted; his tiny shoulders crumple beneath the world's weight
and he closes his eyes forever, hoping for better luck in Heaven.