The bags under his eyes,

hung heavy, weighed down

by cold nights and occasional

fights, over disputed terrority.

Inflated by street life.

Dark circles shade cracked

eyelids and blistered skin, on

a once handsome face.

Now, sallow thin.

A hoarse voice, begging for change.

With each donated coin, life remained

the same, as the day before and a

thousand more.

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Battling the cold

An ice-cold dawn
breathed Baltic breezes
sinking their teeth
into brittle bones.
Pounding pain
in fragile feet.

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