Trampled

Empty bottle, on the footpath,
walking past, the people sneer,
Motionless body, next to bottle,
Price of escape was much to dear.
People pass him, through the day,
Still he lies there, undisturbed,
Another bum there in the gutter,
Living life there on the kerb.
No-one stops to check the poor man,
No-one seems to really care,
Still he lies there, even now,
Eyes open with a glassy stare.
We see this poor man every day,
But never do we stop and think,
Why it is no-one worries,
What drives a man over the brink.
That man is us, and all our friends,
And people yet to meet,
He's the one we trample down,
Though friendly like, we greet.
He's the man who helps you up,
A stepping stone to higher places,
To get anywhere in this world,
Soon they become just nameless faces.
All day they lie there, maybe all night,
At the bottom of society,
Till, at last, get to their feet,
Start trudging to notoriety.
Maybe they'll make it, maybe not,
But in any case it's true,
In their attempt, they'll trample others,
One of them could be you.

Nicholas Bronson

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