Sunday, July 22, 2012
Never Enough Beds
30th March 2012
There are never enough beds for those with no home. When the beds fill the sad souls spill into the night. They ask for blankets but there are never enough blankets. It seems as if they fight over blankets like jackals over meat. The worn lengths of cloth have rotten and turned to stink. The maggot and fleas crawl in them but no matter how they may make us ill the street folk will still use them.
It is as the fighting buzzards and dogs who will take that last morsel of rancid carrion no matter how rank from those without the strength to defend. Blankets are given out to those who ask, but those blankets turn to dust in the rain. It is as if we wanted them to need us so we give them blankets that never last the winter when the rains come.
Each one of these soul had a mother and father. Each soul came from some place. The cries of their memories haunt the night like daemons. They come to me for help but there are so many I cannot help, so many that fall to the side. Folks wonder why I work so hard and perform my duties with such diligence.
How could anything that rightly calls itself human look at those sad faces and not work hard to bring them home? How could I look at myself in the mirror if I did not give it my all? Would I still be the Richard you know if I failed to put shoulder to and redden my face with effort at this problem?
Stay safe, little sister
Richard Leland Neal