Is it weird to say that I miss nights of exploring the lives of many and loving on them?
Thoughts from a cold night under the Steel Bridge:
Traveling the streets, through cold nights
how many choose to stay.
For some this is the best they got,
for others it’s the hell that has bound them to the streets.
For him it was all he has ever known.
Life under the overpass,
Where’s the hope? Where’s the love?
I find familiar faces in these dark places...
Heart of Stone melts away to anxiety attacks;
the need for a friend burst aloud.
Hands are stretched out to grab onto a Spirit of life.
The warm hands are what will help him get through tonight’s angel dust high.
The cravings for a cigarette are intensified
As this Frank heart comes down from the sky
He is honest and so vulnerable,
I find a friend in the midst of the dark lonely night.
For thirty minutes his shaky hands found a conduit of hope.