A Homeless Writer

Photo by Manny Becerra on Unsplash

He stood at the crossroads,
Looking for a tiny roof,
For a place to rest and relax.
He scoured for a shelter for his family,
From the incessant rain and blistering sunshine.
A place to partake of a meal,
A place to laugh and cry.
Oh, he is a poor man.
He is a writer,
Or thought he was one.
Till he was unburdened of this delusion,
When his books did not sell,
He thought he could write a bestseller,
But he ...