Hope and Despair
Coming close to loosing it all,
except a few clothes, an old coat and a ball.
He plods to the Mission with a rare conditon
of which he can no longer recall.
Found buried in this sad stories text.
Why so solemn, beat down and depressed?
Too many bad drugs? Hanging out with some thugs?
or just broken, hurt and rejected?
Sitting in the rear of the Chappel.
From his coat pocket comes a ruby red apple.
Althought its a chore he eats down to the core.
How he arrived there he's truly baffled.
He one day found himself alone.
When his family and friends all had gone.
He pushed them away, a regret to this day.
Now nowhere has he to call home.
The preacher comes in all in smiles.
A sermon about mans pre-ordained trials.
Being somewhat amused, more often confused.
He stares down at the colored floor tiles.
Meandering day after day.
His ambitions and dreams fade away.
Pondering maybe a drink could help me think
and then perhaps I'll be okay.
A hand comes down on his shoulder.
The Chapell's now empty, the sermon is over.
It is now time to eat and then off to sleep,
hoping it doesn't get any colder.
Inhaling a breath of fresh air;
swaying the line between hope and despair.
he made a decision, went to the Mission,
praying someone may possibly care.
Snuggled in bunk number seven.
A sleepless yearning to no longer remember.
As he rolls to his side once more he cries.
Wishing soon he will journey to Heaven.
Copyright © Mark Croson The Applethoughtrotten | Year Posted 2010
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