Her hands so fragile, skin and bone with nothing in between.

His face burnt from the rays beamin down on his brow every morn' .

His beard long and over grown.

Her cheeks sunken and shallow.

Both watching as the 'wealthy' stroll by licking the grease from their lips.

Their suits and dresses pressed and their skin pruned and folded over onto themselves.

The seemingly old young man's lips quiver in anticipation as the sticky greasy meat is carelessly tossed into the trash bin.

The small fragile girl's eyes glimmer in hope as the greedy wave their plastic and paper in the direction of extravagent shops.

Their looks of disgust  towards the weak and hungry leave the sun burnt couple in despair.

The rumble of their stomachs causing spasms of pain.

Does no one take heed?

Does no one see?

We struggle, and gain so little.

While the 'weathy' and greedy sit on their high throne.

When will the balance return.

When will all souls be content, and hopes be restored.

Tell me this, when?