The bench is made of cold metal, and it holds me still and steady.
It reminds me of myself in so many ways,
Tough and used, with a heart that’s full and heavy.
It’s my spot, a place of solace, everyday this bench is mine.
I come here to watch, I observe and I think,
Of a time much different, more wholesome and divine.
With dirty jeans I take a seat, my hair stands tall, no soap in weeks.
The familiar pangs of hunger grabs my guts, it twists and begs.
I knew it would happen, I chose this life, if for nothing else than to understand.
To comprehend this lonesome place with strong hands and steady legs.
I see them all, I watch them close, yet there’s not a glance at me.
A mother rushes her children past, her caring hands squeeze tightly on theirs.
So many reasons this world has come to that, so much fear and lack of pity.
Next up, here comes a businessman, his slacks are freshly pressed.
A full and handsome smile consumes his well groomed face.
As he passes by my bench, his steps move fast and his head drops to his well dressed chest.
Dozens more faces pass by me so rushed, I stay in my spot for most of the day.
My heart sinks deeper in my chest, how have people grown so cold?
Not a soul will stop to look at me, not one heart that wants to pray.
Just as I make an effort to drag my tired body to a stand.
I feel the touch of a tiny fingers on mine, they’re as soft and gentle as the child behind them.
The sweetheart’s eyes sunken slightly, there’s an awkward shaking to her hand.
Her little cheeks lift up too high, a smile lifts only on one side.
A daddy stands behind the girl, his eyes are full of tears.
He tells me that, “She never speaks, and hasn’t smiled so big in years.”
I drop to the ground, let her touch my face, to her level I’m on all fours.
“I’m an angel dear, and I’ve waited so very long, to find a heart as pure as yours.”