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Hope Within the Gutters

Updated on February 8, 2013
Source: Global Angel Foundation
Source: Global Angel Foundation


Hope within the Gutters.


Late at night when you are sleeping, so warm within your bed,

I listen to the cries of loss and see the walking dead,

I live amongst the rubbish, Kenya’s gutters are my home,

And what life I live is hard, weeping silently alone.


Across the alleys, on the street, is heartache and despair,

They are the streets, that even angels, would not tread because of fear,

Nights are cold and often dreary, no comfort and no friends,

I’d be better off if death came, then this pain would have an end.


I live in a world where life is meaningless and fake

A world in which there's no respite, no give... just take, take, take,

Each day I watch people pass me by with looks of such disdain,

They don’t even want to notice that I’m sick and in great pain.


They look straight ahead, so blind, without a word or a quick smile,

‘Is it really so hard for you to stop and talk with me a while?’

If you took a moment from your day to stop and show you care,

You might find that we’re no different, cuts that bleed and love to share.


I’m really just like you are, I have hopes and I have dreams,

I would love to build a life like yours but I just don’t have the means,

Just this once will you not look into my eyes and weary soul,

I am broken, torn in pieces, how I long to be made whole.


So before you pass your judgments and turn your head away,

One day, you too may live like me and dread each waking day,

Please take a moment now to reflect on what little it would take,

To reach out your hand to me, what a difference it could make.


All it takes is just a little of the treasure that you’ve got,

If you sowed just a little, I believe you’d reap a lot,

Just this moment that you take, just as quick as one long breath,

It could mean to me sweet life or a slow and painful death.


Now you’ve read this piece about me, the role you play is yours,

I pray that you would answer and not just shut the door,

Surely there must be a reason for the squalid way I live,

Could it be… perhaps… just maybe…

…It is so that you can give…


©2001 By J.M.Smith

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