Someone Sleeps Here. 

Someone sleeps here,
in the dark of November,
when cold tendrils in windowless holes,
when the ground is damp, and
there is no one to share the suffering.

Just a lonely body, almost alive,
huddled under rags, unable
to live past the moment.

About this poem. 

I stumbled on this scene while poking through an abandoned building. It was a stark reminder of how the simple things, windows, floors, heat, are indeed things to be grateful for.

I am not morbid about things like this. It simply makes me aware so I can continue to help and to give back. But it does remind me of God’s grace in allowing me walls, doors and a bed.

Be well, Travel Wisely,

Tom