Shadows flicker in desperate alleys
as wanderers pass oblivious
stumbling, shouting, weeping
convinced it's all the same to us.
Dusty streets draw complex crowds
as wanderers search their place
Searching freedom to end dismay
crawling injured through the race
Hardened hearts of broken pasts
reflect all offers of affection
deflect any genuine question
yet are desperate for attention
The wanderer is always lost
Questioning the endless dreams
Yet none can ever take their hand
Unless they glimpse behind the scenes
But when they see beyond the road
And sense hope beneath the hurt
The healing hand of Gods own heart
Might then fully cleanse the dirt
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