Ignore the alley behind the mart,
For in it lies a man to blame.
To see himself he cannot start,
His body broken, figure lame.
Old footprints dusted by the snow,
The man lies down beneath the tarp,
His home a refuge from the foe,
A winter’s bitter freeze so sharp.
His beard unkempt and shoes worn through,
With nothing but his faith to hold,
The lonely man forgets his name
As fractals fall from dreaded cold.
While white stars gather from afar,
The man has nothing left to give
But wait and watch the passing car
And hold his cross and hope to live.
His tattered form still longs for light
Amidst the friendless gloom so black.
The frigid snow puts up a fight.
His humble heart begins to crack.
Forget the alley behind the store
For in it lies a man to scorn.
His hands betwixt his groin and sore
To keep them safe from frost forlorn.
The man outlives his benefits
But still the cross he keeps it near.
The alleyway in which he sits
Looms still the same in fright and fear.
The cross upon the snow it falls
From whence it came to kiss the ice.
The man has not the strength and stalls
But angels summon him to rise.
The man, with sudden force bestowed
Defies his fame from hideous rest
And rises up to lift his load
That from within it did infest.
The lonely man now follows friend
And from the heart indeed he cries!
‘Tis morning after peaceful end
When spirits sing and sorrow dies.
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