Hope

As the sun sets, it is tiring to see me struggle.

It slips behind buildings not to give up on me, but to rest.

The only thing I have in my pockets is hope, and just enough strength to keep me up on two feet.

By this time, the streets are the only place I can call home.

People walk past me like I’m trash.

The light shone from the restaurant and cafes on the streets from homes. Left is lingering memory of the warmth of your mother’s love.

As the sun rises the next morning, I hope I rise too.