by Mark Morris

Created on: February 19, 2007   Last Updated: May 14, 2007

On a park bench sits a lonely man
His cigarrette a glowing ember
His blood shot eyes stare only in
He sits here to remember
Once on this lot a small house grew
It sheltered him through many things
It's empty now, the house gone too
And through still air no laughter rings
He left here once to find himself
He left here once his head held high
But what he thought that he would find

The thing that drove him far away
Turns out was what was left behind
And so he sits here every day
His hands no longer strong to work
His voice it may not work at all
He does not know for no one stops
To speak to him, there is no call
The loss of love he understands
Though not as some might think or dream
He mourns the love that made him real
He is invisible it seems
Without someone to hold him here
His mind has flown to distant lands
Where he imagines he's a king
Surrounded by his house and lands
But in that distant place he goes
It is not wealth or power he holds
Close to his breast when day is done
Here is a daughter and a son
Here is a loving wife that once
He loved in this world, by his bench
And so no one will love him now
He lives alone a pitied wretch
Someday, somewhere, perhaps today
He'll feel their love alive and new
For one friend still stays on with him
One friend remains and this friend true
Is in words from his gnarled book
With Holy Bible on its face
It seems that all have given up
Except for Jesus and his grace

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