There’s isn’t an inch of space to stretch my legs; yet the alms are far and few between.
Maybe, I am already dead for the soulless crowd on this throbbing street.
Maybe, I am just a ghost or shadow and not a man of flesh and blood.
The winter chill will take me in and my corpse will go unnoticed.
Of course, empty stares surround me everywhere;
But not a single stare conveys sympathy;
But I do often hear muted whispers;
Heaven and hell is here, they say
This man is simply rotting in hell.
So let him be.
Word count: 100
Photo Prompt Copyright: Rochelle-Weisoff Fields