Beggar Poem by Kewayne Wadley

There I stood.
Faced up right, hands stretched out.
Watching the people pass without care or concern.
My hands were dark. Stained from the dismay of searching.
A simple thing that most find complicated.
Most mistook my begging hands as in need of money.
Change broken from a donamination of dollars they'd spend.
I'd shake my head as my hands didn't need for worldly things.
Exclaimation turned to a laugh or a scoff from those whom stopped across the street where the point was missed.
Broken by a small space of materialism.
I searched the streets not in search of money,
But in search of love