I met a man at noon with rain inside his eyes.
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His coffee cup saluted me, then landed on the floor.
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I said, insane be why we lift each other toward the skies.
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He laughed and said, then madness has a decent open door.
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A woman missed her bus and cursed the clock by name.
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Her sandwich wore more mustard than a sandwich ought to wear.
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I offered her a napkin and a joke about my shame.
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She smiled like sudden sunlight had remembered she was there.
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Not every heart deserves the jewels we carry in our hand.
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Some pigs will judge the pearl and ask if it can fry.
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So choose the souls who listen, those who try to understand.
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And leave the muddy critics to their royal sty.
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We walked a little slower past the glass and city noise.
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Where lonely people practiced looking busy, sharp, and fine.
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I saw the tired fathers and the mothers hiding poise.
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Each face a sealed cathedral with a flickering little shrine.
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Dignity was quiet, not a trumpet in the square.
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Empathy sat beside it with compassion on its knee.
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Well-being, like a candle, gave a humble, human glare.
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And all three said, be useful, but let others still be free.
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The man bought three more coffees for no reason but the day.
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The woman called her sister just to ask if she was fed.
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A janitor made thunder with his mop across the gray.
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Then bowed like he had cleaned the moon and polished up its head.
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I did not give a sermon to the wounded passing by.
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I only held the door and let the answer breathe.
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For wisdom hates a costume and a loud heroic cry.
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It works in little rooms where tired people grieve.
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A child dropped his ice cream and declared the world was done.
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His father said, my boy, the cone has met its fate.
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I bought another scoop and called it resurrection fun.
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The child became a prophet licking chocolate off his plate.
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This is how a village forms inside a stranger’s day.
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Not by perfect saints, but fools who choose to care.
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By one absurd kindness placed exactly in the way.
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By one clear mind that finds another there.
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The logic is not hidden in a palace made of gold.
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It sits beside the wounded, making room.
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If I protect your worth, then my own soul grows bold.
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If you protect mine, we both outlive the gloom.
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So let the cruel keep counting what they never learned to give.
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Let vanity go hungry in its mirror made of clay.
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We’ll practice being human while we still have time to live.
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And be insane enough to brighten someone’s day.
…

DCG