In some back alley corner there was a boy.  The back alley was slimy and rotten and dirty.  He lay amidst cigarette butts and slime and dirt.  Fireescapes reached toward heaven yet he was stuck amidst the slime; he could not climb out, he was stuck.  Brick and mortar climbed towards the heavens in that alley yet he lived amongst the stench, the cigarette butts, the slime.  He lived in hell.  Gazing skyward briefly, splinters of light broke through his thoughts only to be consumed by the darkness he knew.  He was some unmanaged error.  Some maladjusted potential.  Power was the feeling.  It was not a need but it did feed apon itself and it ate at him so.  It ate at him, consuming him like a cancer driving his soul towards the end of death's rattle.  Fear was the feeling.  It was not new but it did fight with him and it ate at him so.  Driving his way through it, he fought to escape.  But it was to much. It consumed him. His death was near. So he fought.  In that subterranean realm where there was no light he fought. In that back alley where there was nothing but slime and filth and cigarette butts he fought.  He fought and he fought.  He needed escape.  Wanted to get away.  But did not know how.  He knew no hope. He did not want to be there, amongst the slime and the filth, the dirt.  But there was no escape.  He could not get away.   Darkness consumed him.  He was lost to the world.  Image became thought.  Thought became memory.  Memory became something he longed to forget.  He was without a care yet without anyone to show him how.  He was lost to the darkness.  Pimps, pushers and perverts became his way.  They took pleasure in talking to him and selling him their wares.  Here have some of this, take some of that, if you will, I will and a lecherous stare.  Lost without sight or direction he wandered.  As the streets fed him, he ate, but the meals were meager. A crust of bread here.  A sip of oily water there.  His hunger consumed him.  Unattended against the winter, he wandered.  Sleeping amidst the snow.  Walking through the rain.  He was cold; tired; without hope.  He was hopeless yet he had never met hope.  He did not know his name.  It was death amongst the living.   Life amongst death.  Completely separate, he wanted to be the same so he lived amongst the pimps and pushers; guns became his glory.  It was decadent; exciting, yet he knew no other way.  He had never met hope.  He did not know his name.  He became like them.  He sold his wares.  Have some of this, try some of that, he said.  It was decadent;exciting, yet he knew no other way.  He had never met love.  He did not know her name.  Then there was a girl.  She showed him a way.  Unlike the pimps and pusher, she did not talk.  Yet he knew her name.  And she knew his.  She would say his name.  No one ever said his name.  Whenever they did it was in anger or admonishment.  She taught him his name though she never spoke.  She taught him his name and it was good.  She showed him it was good.  She showed him how to love, how to live amongst the living, how to be found.  He loved her.  She showed him he wasn't separate, that he was among them, like her...loved, alive, amongst the living.  They spoke and he found something new; inspiration, meaning.   She taught him how to love, the meaning of life and, though, she did not love him, he was among them, others, like her.  Inspiration ensnared him.  It soared within his imagining.  Time became memory.  His past was forgotten.  His death left behind.  The back alley, the slime became a distant memory.   The lecherous stares left behind.  All was forgotten.  He was reborn.  Love; what it became to him no earthly being could fathom, endless communication, silent understanding, two souls coming together in union beneath stars. Like a connection with God yet on earth amongst the living. A truth beyond truths of travels into forever and beyond.  She has forgotten him but she is not forgotten.  She has moved on.  She was from the land of the living and so she returned, he from death and yet she brought him life.  So he lives, giving what may, realizing goodness in others, loving, offering a helping hand.  Why?  Because she never spoke yet she said his name and he loved her for it.  She gave that to him.  Shedding all, she gave that to him.  So he could live.  Life was given meaning and that was love.  From that back alley amidst cigarette butts and slime and dirt, she saved him.  He will never be the same.  I have met angels and love is their name.