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The Prince and The Rats




He lays there on the subway,
Eloquent shadow of dignity.
What once was grand,
Can no longer stand,
His own morality.

Open eyes look straight by,
Refusing to see the truth.
Their empire state,
A broken soul’s fate,
To rot in a shuddering booth.

The gold girls and diamond boys,
Too alive to see death.
And who they’d save,
If they were brave,
But money to them is breath.

The Prince doesn’t know class,
Just people and life.
Here is his home,
Pillow some old tome,
Rolling along with strife.

He’ll spare you a smile if you look,
Yet nobody ever does,
At the lost old boy,
Trying to find joy,
In the fact that he’s still alive.




A/N: This is inspired by my recent holiday to New York, where I saw a homeless man on the subway. I felt really bad for him; he was emaciated, was obviously ill/sick and was using some old newspapers as a pillow. Everyone was either looking at him like he was dirt or just avoiding him completely, especially the lady with the designer handbag and Blackberry phone sat next to me. Anyway, that got me thinking and spawned this.

Please let me know what you think! :)