Sinner's imagination

A riddle’s just a ticket to a dreamer.
The excuse to wander, in prayer and song
He sits in the bin. 
By his own volition?
Who’s to say, 
Convinced the glimmering city lights are so much more 
Than what they’ve revealed to him.
That the layers of filth coat a fate so grand, 
The dumpsters of the world will gasp in awe. 

And he ignores 
The smoking gun, the crying woman and the jeering young men
For the smogged-out stars
Form a map so bright 
They’ll lead him home.

Bullets may riddle the night. 
But the dust in his lungs creates a pattern.
He knows what he must do.
From the bin he leaps,
His quest unfinished. 

(inspired by & quotes 'Potter's Field' by Tom Waits)