One hour feels like a lifetime
When you sleep out in the street,
No shelter ‘gainst the rain or hail
No blankets to give heat.
One hour seems like a lifetime
When there’s nowhere warm to hide,
No shelter from the storms of life
And no way to live inside.
One hour can mean the end of life
For street folk in Melbourne’s winter,
The speed of life accelerates
As winter winds grow bitter.
One hour can cause the loss of hope
For those whose lives are like an empty well,
While we may call it winter time
The street folk call it, “Hell!”
One hour can mean no future
For those who have no chance,
Who wander lifeless through the years
Like sleepers in a trance.
One hour can mean the end of all
For those who won’t go on,
They find their awful life moves slow
Each second seems an aeon.
© Copyright 2011
© Copyright 2017 Philip Roberts. All rights reserved.
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