TALES OF A DESTITUTE - A POEM

The sky is dark
Seems the rain is here
No!
It's signs and miracles in the air
He's despaired
By friends and someone he thinks is his peer
Bring him here!
The voice uttered
The boy is sore bad
With bruises like melodies singing in his organs
He lives in the urban
Happily but hungry
With no family no cousin
Bandage on his left arm for theft, the boy is bruised
So he cries every day with more tears than the clothes of a destitute.

What a disaster!
He can't even envisage the life he's gone live after
If he does in this penury, wouldn't his story be written down in pain right in a big chapter?
Think out loud
I just talked about a man who rose from the ashes
With no backup from family, friends nor foe
One that doesn't know all his aunties
What a miracle, could he be John the Baptist?