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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
About the great number of people life has past by.

Submitted: January 22, 2011

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Submitted: January 22, 2011



An old man freezing in the night
Unable to meet the power cost,
Pondering at the trials of life
A member of the lost.

The lost are people left behind
On whom life begins to take a toll,
No longer daring to aim high
Just staying alive their only goal.

The lost may wonder at life’s short falls
But no longer fight for a fairer life,
They’re beaten down and raped by fate
They’re merely struggling to survive.

An old man in the endless night
Freezing through unto the bone,
Arthritis wracks his aching frame
He struggles on upon his own.

A man whom fate did overlook
No wife or children of his own,
No loved ones ‘cept his two old cats
To help to make his house a home.

The lost are people without a life
People who just merely exist,
For whom trying has become too hard
And so they merely subsist.

People who have failed at life
For life owes them no living.
The people who once dared to hope
Until life forced them just to give in.

The lost may wonder all alone
Forced to freeze on
Melbourne’s streets,
Wary of the struggles of life
Afraid of anyone they meet.

For fate has treated them badly
By life they have been raped,
Until the end brings sweet solitude
At last release in death’s embrace.

© Copyright 2011
Philip Roberts

© Copyright 2017 Philip Roberts. All rights reserved.

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