A homeless man, lifts his head;awakened, by a sound,
Yet, all he sees, is darkness;as he tries, to look around
Slowly, his eyes, adjust, to the dark;and he, rises, from his bed,
Wondering, if the sound, was a dream;was it, in his head.
He struggles, to move about;strains his eyes, to see,
As all, his worldly possessions; are stored behind, a tree,
A voice, whispers, out to him;he jumps, out of fright
It seems, the dream, is still alive;it calls to him, in the night.
Though, he’s judged, for how he lives;consider, all, the why’s,
Look past, his dirty clothes;look into, his eyes,
See the light and passion; that’s locked in, with no escape,
For no one, sees the reasons;that put him, in this place.
The figure, is someone, from, his heart;a memory, from the past,
But, was the sound, a real thing;has she come, at last,
To take him, from this lonely place; to again, make him whole,
Or, is it, just another dream;projected, from, his soul.
As you look and judge, the man;think of, your own, imperfections,
He carries, issues, just like you;but he can’t, hide them from detection,
Now, he lives, his life, alone;yet the figure, speaks, out loud,
No matter, where you might go, my love;I’ll find you again, somehow.