Epigrams

Street Rats

Tattered and aching were their hearts
as they throw themselves out to seek salvation
begging for that warmth and hospitality
greeted by cruelty and hostility
treated like nothing but dust
with screaming hearts, they cry themselves to sleep
another death, another burial
still they stay

battered and bruised were their souls
scars and scabs on their scrawny flesh
clutching on to what's left of their lives
pickpockets, cutthroats, they were
liars and thieves were their names
the woodworks were their home
living like the hungry wolves they were
such the story of street rats

floating on a river
they were found
smiling up at the grey sky, their eyes sewn shut
eyes that had seen the deepest darkness of the souls of men
clutched hands in iron grips
for death shan't do them apart
their souls, now cradled
in the arms of the weeping angels