A Poor Mans Love

See a man all dressed in filth from the greasy hair to his worn out sneakers. Without a care in the world. The odds of life are upon him, out of luck ;out of poor love. How can he be out of poor luck.
 When his eyes are filled with joy as he bites into a bruised orange. Studying the orange sphere maltecously peeling away the dead skin as he takes a bite of the bitter juice. He savor's with a smile. His butterscotch teeth glistening in the sun.
 See a man out of luck, out of poor love. The walls of life come tumbling down he finds shelter beneath the skeletal cave in a battered withered tent. A rusty shopping cart the home to many stories he drags along. Keeping his hands warm beside a steel lit oil drum. To remind him once the warmth of true love. On such a winter night. His grissly beard hangs over him beneath his hood like a hooded beast. The jagged misshapened hands and bruised scars tell the tail of life's struggles.
 See a man out of luck, out of poor love never breaks his smile. How can he be poor when the lights of the city reveal in his eyes. They comfort him and make him dream.  The moon above the one true love an ali. Never leaves his side whispers in his ear; I am here to take you away ,to help you escape. Dreams away with a smile. Just another night among this concrete paradise.