The Homeless Woman


Luminous was not her night,
Wrapped in the roux embrace of fire light,
Disparity was her only right,
Cloaked in the ascetic grasp of midnight,
Gelid wind danced in flight,
Below the anarchy of stars ignite,

Through the windows she could see,
The pious eating in tranquility,
Their evanescent bounty of jubilee,
She herself had nothing and nobody,
Save the aesthetic life of autonomy,

Capricious were her ways,
Among the galaxies were their gateways,
Yet she found glee among the inlays,

With her feet trembling and her hands cobalt,
With them empty she still began to exalt,
The highest of her tree noble,
Within the looming bastion upon the asphalt,
And the music cacophonous to a fault,

She smiled the blanket she could wear,
Despite the chill she extolled for the wind in her hair,
And could one forget God who listened to prayer?
Perhaps the thing that elevated her soul more,
Was the scattered benevolence she saw everywhere,
Against it all, her thankfulness was rare.

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