A box with paints from childhood's time:
The colors of town are earth and grime.
An old worker at a dark doorway squats,
The spuds in his bowl are powdery dry.
It's a face of yellowish and gray spots
In the midst of hunger, cold, dirt and slime.
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Comments1WOW, SUCH A POWERFUL POEM! REALLY HITS YOU IN THE FEELS. STILL, IT'S BEAUTIFUL IN ITS OWN GRIM WAY... KEEPS YA THINKING 🤔 🙌💔