Spare a Coin

A coin clicks down on the palms of diminished value.

Hands held out, pleading for some kind of hope.

Clothes tattered, torn in disarray

Hair unkempt, tangled, matted.

How can we walk passed subconsciously,

Avert our gaze and know we're free,

When all they need is someone to care?

How can we walk passed subconsciously,

When we can see their pain so obviously?