Gifts from Angels

Blazing days,

frigid hours I spend on the corner,

I watch a city pass me by.

A cardboard sign depicting my distress,

inside my mind is weary.

Alone from humanity,

I struggle to inhale a breath as people rush down these streets of baneful need.

Sometimes the rain comforts my solitude but often my heart dies from exposure to the unstable elements of emotions.

Wind, sleet, rain, snow and sun I will continue to stand in to gather a few coins to feed my family.

Frustration and sorrow feel like a long lost companion from ages past,

hours stare at me as the sun flies on by like a 747 going to hell.

From within of my heart a small thread of hope remains, true.

Aging too fast for my youth,

I dream of a horn of plenty for all.

Night falls as a blanket over this city and my daily job is over.

Do I get to eat or not?

do I get to sip on a Pepsi or perhaps to smoke a cheap cigarette or not?

Yes or no, it all depends on the angels,

awake into the weaning light I count my gifts and praise the Gods.

A grateful heart I have as I survive another day in this concrete hell.