The sun sets and the city,

Ceaselessly in motion, is shaded blue

There is a triangle shaped park

Where trees protect the sacred ground

From the speed of the pavement world

In the darkness you have to strain

To see the resting ones on benches,

And others in clusters, talking, seeking warmth

They are shadows in the deep blue calm,

Who go unnoticed by the wakeful night life

If perceived, they are avoided

They say “Stay away from the park at dusk”,

Because people fear the unknown

And in the busy D.C. madness

Few have time to know anything but routine

But if, by chance, one finds the time

Or if, by choice, they make the time

Perhaps the scales would fall from their eyes

So they would not see looming shadows,

But rather Steve, Whistle-man, and Angel Perry

They come from all over

Different regions of the city, of the nation

Some are victims of gambling and drugs

Some have simply had more than their share

Of misfortune and tragedy

They have lost luck and money,

They have lost homes and loved ones,

They have been abused and dehumanized

But they understand the things

That others are too distracted to see

Michael escaped the social trap

From which few break free

But when the sun sinks into the blue shadows

He returns to his brethren in the park

To say hello, or just sit a while



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