Grace

It��s a sad sight to see a lone drinker on a
Wintery weekday night. A tale to tell no doubt,
But no one to listen. The empty bar, or faded
Four walls, lost dreams. No illusions to lean on

Glad former friends can'��t see him. His hell
Is coming face to face with his life, no place to
Hide, displaced, he faces the truth, in what can
Become a dark and lonely empty place, his very
Being.

Still time will pass and sleep will claim him.
A weary soul comes alive, grace and respite given.
Maybe sunlight will bring new hope, yes, lets hope
for that.