His hand open, empty, skinny and filled with dirt. With tattered clothes and a cane on his other hand, he held on to the metal poles of despair. The soul who stands restless and searching for a cause that will extend their life for another day. Would there be anyone to take heed?
Another soul in the brink of despondency, the eyes that does not mirror her soul and her hands wounded. Can you see anything through her eyes? Behold her face, tainted by sorrow scarred by life and gasping for hope.
Solace, is it too much to lend a hand?
1 comment:
what do you mean?
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