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Seven black homeless men
Sit on a corner stoop,
Waiting for the day to begin.
Their scarred faces
Tell various stories of loves
And reunions,
Of disappointments and failures,
What they could have been
And what they turned into.
They sit like pensive crows,
Viewing the world with
Blackened archaic eyes.
They receive no respect
Only wary glances from afar
And still they sit, waiting
For the sun to finally set.
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Poetry: Oppression
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