I cannot help but see
the tossing, turning subtly
of wretched hearts in silent pain
walking about in steady rain.
They wander without home or bed
no place safe to lay their heads.
Rejected, scorned and tempest tossed,
their present fate is walking lost.
Kind words oft not well received,
anger bears false dignity.
Shame their portion, tears unshed,
broken souls need more than bread.