On life and homelessness

<span;>How could I ask a man to die upholding the morals of a society that has wholly failed him?
<span;>How could I ask him to take up arms to defend a land to which he is treated a stranger,
<span;>even though he knows its soil more intimately than those who claim to own it?
<span;>How could I pluck the fruits of the earth from his hands to add to my garden,
<span;>when his are scarred with toil and bent by broken limb?
<span;>I know not the price of nothing, save the shrivelled skin and broken teeth of wanting.
<span;>But I rage all the same —
<span;>I rage at a world designed to crush the already crushed;
<span;>I rage at a world that seizes the air from the lungs of the gasping;
<span;>I rage at quiet, forgotten death beneath the blanket of city light;
<span;>and I rage at my own thriving,
<span;>while others writhe in the cage of our designing.