The air is crisp
Breath rising in the Winter midst
Darkness covers the vacant
Streets of Mind and Soul.
The Body is frail
Dying from absence of food and shelter
The Soul is crying from the depths of emptiness,
As the Mind grows dense form loneliness.
The stomach breeds growths of hunger
And the teethe yearn for a bite to eat.
As “food for thought” means little.
Prayers for 20 inches of Rain
Give hope for the drink of water.
Bones ache from the accommodation of a
And, garbage cans full of wasted food
Give faith that she may receive a necessary meal.
Rats crowd around the bend and lend company.
Conscious thoughts of meditation
Enter the mind-
And, in that Moment the demise
Of Fate sheds its horror.