Help Him to Fly
In the darkness of a city night, I remember him lying there.
Sick by dope,
Needle marks in his arms,
He tried to rise up, but fell back down.
The sidewalk was his homeless bed,
The cracks in the concrete, his unconsecrated church
Oh, those strangled veins, like human rope that frayed his breathing soul
I wondered if he would ever rise up,
Maybe flap his wings,
like an angel or a great bird
But he was sickened by dope,
and it would get colder soon,
The snow would be his blanket
The broken needles his tomb stone
Let us pray: Help me make a blood stained cross,
just don't touch the sharp edge
A cut, a drop of blood from man to man,
from person to person can be a deadly sin
Maybe, oh maybe, an angel or great bird will help him to fly...see himself from above.
Together perhaps we too can rise up! Rise up hereafter to see what awaits...in warmth, in shelter, in loving arms? In the athiesim of time?
Let us pray: Help me make a blood stained cross.
Carry his needles. Untie his strangling veins
Put a coat under his fallen head
Another lay a coat as a blanket across his still breathing soul
Together we shiver. Together we feel cold
After time the Angel and Great Bird are here!!
Take him first, and then help us to fly!
In the darkness of a city night, I remember him lying there, and how in my morning dreams our lives took flight.