I write for the lost souls like me,
who wait for hope to find them.
I write for the ones who've tasted beauty
And give meaning to the driest stem.
I lost my home,
but not my heart.
It's where I am, not where I was at the start.
I believed I was not among the worthy to go places others went
but it's the brokenness that builds me, success for rent.
I wait for nothing, nothing at all.
Nothing is coming, there's no place to fall.
I am content being alive right now, here in this moment.
Giving all I can until everything I own is spent.
My spirit, my time, my love and my money,
to be with others and show them it's lovely,
to look towards the future with hope
whether you had it all, or you could not even afford soap.
If you work hard the world comes back to find
you've cared for others, and the world will be kind.