Would you..

Everyday,

You sit by those benches, 

Lying like a fallen tree.

With wrinkles adorning you, 

faint smoke coloring you. 

The odour is unpleasant, 

and I am worried.

Really worried. 

Once, I want to sit beside you,

and ask, 

"Why do you do this?"

You ask for money, 

and spend on spirits and weed. 

Continuing in the circle, 

Living on the edge.

A few days later, 

Some thing in you might give up, 

Would you be happy, 

I do think. 

What is that, which makes you do this?

Fear, helplessness, anger, desperation.

I have been through that. 

I can help. 

I want to.

But would you act, 

Would you feel the difference. 

Would you see the beauty of life?

Would you see the gift?