Going no where, lost in heavy thoughts, seeking answers to the fog inside my head,
I found him lying there in the filth of a losers street.
I paused to ponder and to wonder, what could bring a man so low.
He stirred in brief awareness, and with nothing less than shame our eyes did meet.
He held my gaze with surprising keeness, as he shivered from the cold.
I asked him could I help him to get up on his feet,
was there someplace I could take him, was there anyone to call.
Did he need a couple dollars, could he use a bite to eat.
He shook his head just faintly, and raised his arms up to me,
as I reached into my pockets, to see what I could spare.
His trembling hand on mine, told me he feared I would recoil in horror and disgust,
but something in those cold steel eyes, kept me standing there.
His frost bit lips quivered in a futile attempt to speak.
I leaned a little closer now, so that I could hear,
what did he need to tell me, words frozen on his lips.
I felt him shudder from the cold, I felt him shudder from his fear.
Then what was to be the clearest blue, that I had ever seen,
lost to a memory, lit up those frosted eyes.
They were warm now, warm enough for tears.
It was then I knew. He called me Angel, then he died.
An Angel Original
© Copyright 2003 Paula Scola
All Rights Reserved
