By Doug Henry
I find it strange
when the blind ask me for change
but not dollars or cents
just anything that makes sense
in this world where we sleep on the ground
among the night sounds
rummaging the lost and found
bound to a life of charity
I see a man stare at me
and my prosperity
The care in his eyes
we people counter with lies
essentially bashing
their irrational compassion
with rash words to escape in a fashion
where we feel far less than sorry
What if you were he or she
no money or home
shaking a coffee can
towards the humans that roam
your part of the block
Now erase your thoughts
try to save face
because as our race
keeps up its present pace
soon we'll all get a taste
of being in that place
So after your talk
of how things don't change
and they stay the same
ask me
I'll say the same things change