Nonsensical mutterings,
Screaming at the voices,
A desolate wasteland,
Of discarded beer bottles,
Cigarette butts and trash.
Along with discarded dreams,
Aspirations and people,
I watch them sleep,
On cold concrete,
What promise they once held,
Destroyed by circumstance,
I sit with them and listen,
To the stories they weave,
Such intelligence and humbleness,
One would do well,
To listen to their advice,
All gone now,
Quiet,
I’m waiting for my bus

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