Authored: June 30, 2015

A cold bitter wind blows against a wind blasted face
A middle-aged man looks haggard trying to keep warm
On a blisteringly cold Winter's night.
All he has for belongings is a garbage bag and a trolley and
Newspapers for sheets against the cold
He tries to take sanctuary at the bottom of stairwells at Central Station.
He watches people with food and drink pass him by
He has no money to feed himself.

He remembers early on in his life
When he had dreams of school and of a future
He wanted to be a tradie
But he made some wrong decisions
He has not had a shower for several weeks now
His clothing is in tatters
He hears some passer byers call him scum and a good for nothing
But they have not had his life.

This man had hopes and dreams
He also has medical bills he cannot pay
And cannot afford medication
He is one of the forgotten
He scavengers' food from rubbish bins and
Drinks from puddles or from park taps.

And in those few instances someone does offer him a hot tea
A hot coffee or a blanket
He cries for it is those few moments he feels human again
A man.

Those homeless men and women in our city streets
Each of them has a history, a life
It's easy for us who have shelter and money
To judge, but imagine
If the shoe was on the other foot?

Those men and women we as a society have swept away from sight
Judged and tarred with the same brush
Homelessness has become a political weapon
And funding has been stripped from resources and community groups
And on any given night, as we sleep soundly
Another human dies a lonely sad death
For he or she has fallen through the cracks of a hapless society.