The shadows dance
On the brick wall
Above me
Like dark flames
Licking
At mortared lines
The streets leap to life
As car horns play tag
With a million voices
An orchestra of night
Playing a new tune
While I make a place
To lay my weary head
In this alleyway
I’ve learned to call home
HASTYWORDS 
Homeless? Or is home a mystery, a state of mind and heart, not a place at all? Is it chosen or given or by some default? We ought not to judge quickly or harshly where someone appear to have found it.
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Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
HASTY – A place to sleep, does that make it a home?
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