it only works if you talk back.

It’s too late for bed, too early to rise
As I make my way through the quiet city streets
The squeak of the snow beneath my feet creates a metronome
Calibrated to perfection, with minor interruptions coming from elusive naked pavement (though the snow caught in my boot still whispers in time)
Its only true foe: the commanding red hand (should I choose to obey)

It is the tic-toc of these frozen pendulums
Which creates a space for a mind to clear
For thoughts to drift
For worries to fall
For doubts to fade

It is in this time, this seemingly God-forsaken time, that God can truly speak
Though this city is asleep
Though this city is deserted
Though this city is quiet
I am awake, I am not alone, God speaks to me.
And as I approach my destination, my only wish is that my journey had been longer.

This shelter reeks of piss and beer
A side effect of the local liquor store
People sleep here
This man sleeps here
Feet wrapped in sports
The classifieds spread across his body
The vomit still fresh

The smell hits me
Like a lean mean fat-reducing grilling machine to the face
I’ve never waited this long in my life
I quietly await my big blue saviour
He should be here by now
I shift uncomfortably on the nearby bench
Hoping to God the newsman sleeps deeply

I’m not proud of my wish
I should care about this man
But I’d be lying to say that I do
I want to want to care
And sometimes I hope that is good enough
I can’t help but wonder if he’s wasted his life
I can’t help but wonder if he wastes his every dime
I can’t help but wonder how God deals with judgemental pricks like me
And as my mobile messiah pulls up
I can’t help but wonder if he’ll make it through the winter