Can you help me with my description paragraph? Please?

I am doing this paragraph on this hobo named Ben, but I need help editing it and add more powerful sentences and metaphors and expressions into it. I have to add these things into this paragraph:

Where he lives, what his eyes look like, his hair description and how it smells, describe his ears, what does he enjoy from life, what kind of movement does he make(like how he walks), describe his hat, describe his jacket and pants, describe his shoes, what does his face look like, how does he feel about kids(how does he act around them), how does he act around rich people, what makes him sad, what does he wish for, what does he dream of.

*If you need to change a lot of it, then go for it!*

If you could help me with this i would really appreciate it and if you could tell me what the expressions and metaphors mean as you write it that would be awesome! Thanks soo much guys if you help me with this! Now here is the paragraph:

The Hobo

He was known to be the highlight of attention. He brought the city to a place sharing love and bringing old folk music back to life. His only home and his only friend were his guitar and the bench he would sit to play his music and sleep at night. The kids would gather around Ben and his guitar listening to the wonderful music. Even on the cold days of Vancouver, Ben would constantly play his guitar because he loves the smiles he prays to see again after his wife閳ユ獨 tragic death. To Ben, nothing more than those kids閳?smiles can make him happier. In the day, Ben閳ユ獨 eyes brighten with a rainbow glam that would shatter at night patched with gloom. There閳ユ獨 no one for Ben to lean on and say 閳ユ窔 love you閳?because no one thought he was attractive anymore. He has hasn閳ユ獩 gotten a haircut in years, and his eyes are almost scarlet red from no sleep but tears. He feels lucky to have good .Almost everyone living in Vancouver knew him because of his talents in music, but no one ever cared who he was inside. Ben had lost his wife a few years ago. Ben would sit and shed tears till his eyes turned red because he knew the only reason why no one wanted to be with him was because he wasn閳ユ獩 rich wearing expensive clothing with a fresh scent. Since Ben lost his job, he couldn閳ユ獩 pay for anything more than what he finds in the dump. A corduroy striped jacket, old ripped jeans, and a brown pleaded hat that barely fits his oval shaped head. His Reebok shoes are so worn out that Ben can feel the cold cement on rainy days and the steaming hot gravel on sizzling hot days. It閳ユ獨 been a while since Ben felt young. He hasn閳ユ獩 taken care of himself because he does not have the money to afford it. He dreams he could have the money to afford a home and start a family again, but he wishes he could have his wife back. Seeing rich people doesn閳ユ獩 make him mad, but seeing families with their kids makes him sad. He hates seeing himself all alone waiting for someone to love him again like his wife use to.

Can you help me with my description paragraph? Please?

wow...thats a little to much to read hun

閳绢櫘ope that helped閳?br>Can you help me with my description paragraph? Please?

Ben

He was the highlight of attention. With his guitar, he transformed the city into a place of love, strengthened by the beat of his old folk music. The only friend he ever had was the guitar, and the only place he ever called home was his (COLOR) bench in (NAME OF PARK). The kids would gather around Ben while he played, listening to the music of love. Even on Vancouver's coldest days, you could see Ben sitting on his lone bench playing his guitar. Once when I asked him why he played such happy songs for everyone, when his life seemed so miserable, he told me that the smiles on the kids faces reminded him of his wife before she passed away. To Ben, true happiness was born from the happiness he gave to others. It's hard to imagine that this man could ever be so satisfied and fulfilled, because at the end of the day when everyone would leave him to go to their warm homes, he would stay behind. Sitting on the bench that was illuminated by nothing but the dim street lamp, his guitar would remain silent, awakened only by the first noises of early morning goers. He watched families getting their coffee across the street. The women and children would go to the park or come listen to him play afterwards, while the men got a shave at the barbers. Ben felt his face; his beard was touching the top of his chest. He hadn't gotten a haircut in years. The first children rushed to him, asking for a song. It was an old favorite, begged for by the local children of Vancouver. He set the guitar on his old ripped jeans that he found at the dump. He pulled his tight-fitting, brown pleated hat to the side and began tapping his feet to the rhythm. He could feel his exposed toe hitting the wet cement where his Reeboks had ripped. Ben opened his mouth and began to sing.

Can you help me with my description paragraph? Please?

The only companion Ben had to hold was his curvaceous stinged friend, a battered old guitar.

..and a rusted old metal bench with flecks of blue paint that would fall off when he would sit on it...

Bens' guitar seemed to reverberate a meloncholy tone with every strum..The music would swell like waves as Ben would bring it up to a higher pitch then recede lingering in the air like the foam on the beach as he came to the end.

Ben withstood the bitter cold to play his tunes for whoever would listen. The smiles from the childrens' faces would erase for a moment the pain of losing his wife in such a tragic way.

People stood and listened because of his gift. But no one saw beyond the unkempt hair and beard that masked the real person inside.

Eyes may be the window to a mans' soul, but no one could see past Bens' weariness and eyes of red that couldn't sleep. Sleep for Ben was mostly reliving his past.-the days of happiness and love with his precious Lena. It was not the sweet dreams that kept sleep at bay, but the reality when he woke that it was only a dream and that his beloved Lena was gone. On that tragic day when Lena was killed, Ben lost not only his wife, but himself. He mourned not because of what he was now, but because all that was left was a memory of what had been. There was nothing left except breathing in and out and existing. The only food that he could even taste was the occassional food he would get at Al's, Other than what he got at Al's, it may have well have been the cardboard he put in his shoes to keep the cold from coming through the holes in the bottom.

Other than his songs and a smile from the kids, his life was like the nest of a long gone bird - empty and now purposeless Just meaningless debris left dangling in the branches and in Bens' life. Broken sticks and broken dreams. All the same to him.

Lena. Was she watching him from above? If so, why couldn't she reach him and put her arms around him just once to let him know she was there?

Love. He wanted love again. But who would he love and who would possibly love him? No one could see the tall, rugged and good looking man that Lena loved.

They were going to have kids. Maybe a house full. Who knew?Doesn't matter now. Those kids of their imagination spurred on by their dreams would be grown now. Maybe he would have been a grandfather by now.

Grandbabies bouncing on his knee birthed from children he never had. This kind of thinking would overshadow Ben from time to time and that is when he would resolve to play all day for anyone or no one. It wouldn't matter if just the squirrles listened. This is why when people on the street would pass by and see him singing into the wind, they would shake their head and walk a little faster past the crazy old kook.

But the kids didn't notice. They just saw a friend who would tell stories with his singing guitar called Lena. She was his "best friend" he would tell them.. Lena understood him and always sang along whatever song he wanted to sing at the time. He would sing songs about dragons and fairy kings and magic feathers and mountains made of candy. The kids never saw the straggly beard or unwashed stringy long gray hair. They just saw a funny old man who took them on an imagination journey while their mothers stood reluctanly back at a safe distance with crossed arms. Soon they would come and take a child by the elbow and avoid looking into the old mans' eyes. If they did happen to make eye contact,

they would give a quick smile and look away with a dart as they hustled away explaining to their child all the chores that awaited. They had to go. They must go. "Dad would be home soon." "You have homework and your room to clean." " I have supper to cook." "We need to hurry now." The child didn't need the explanation. The child was familiar with the routine.it was said for Bens' benefit. There was something pitiful about the old guy that even the mothers' couldn't deny. They felt sorry for him, but what could they do? And there was something about that music he played that drew them in like a clearance sale sign in the Clothes Barn window.

Old Ben dreamed with his eyes open. He dreamed of an imaginary home and wife and love. He wanted it again. He longed for it. But he knew in his heart and mind that the day for that was over.

So in his mind he created a family with a pretty wife about 5'4" with soft brown eyes and golden brown hair. Her face was sweeter than it was pretty and her golden eyes would spark when she would look into Bens' light green eyes.Their

house was all white with a brick sidewalk. The floors were

a dark stained wood with a red oriental rug in the center of the foyer. The furniture was traditional. That is what he grew up with and there was a comfortableness to that. On his imaginary weekends in his imaginary backyard, Ben would recline in his imaginary hammock where his sweet faced, brown eyed wife would bring him a tall glass of imaginary lemonade. He would reach up and with one swoop, pull her down into the hammock to sit with him and not even spill one drop. That would break the dream. Reality would sink in because logic would tell him that it was NOT logical to pull a person into a hammock while holding a full glass of lemonade without at least a few splashes sloshing over the side of the glass. At that point, the world would look gray and non-descript.

That's when he would travel down across the bridge where the deli was located - Al's Deli and Snack Bar. John Easton had been the owner for about three years now. When he took over ownership of the deli, he also took over being a friend to Ben. Al had retired because of a bad heart and sold the deli to a younger and healther man; John Easton. John didn't know all of Bens' story. But he liked Ben and felt sorry for him. He knew Bens' wife was long dead but that was about all. He never pressed for details. That wasn't his way. He accepted Ben, straggly, old and haggered as he was.Ben strolled into the deli with his mouth half parted and that vague look on his face like he wasn't quite sure where he was. John knew this look and had followed Al's advice whenever he would see Ben like this.

He remembered Al's words. "You know, when you see him like this, he's had one of his spells. Just act like nothing is wrong, but bring him a cup of Joe and either a roast beef on rye - that's his favorite. Or a cup of leek soup. He'll thaw out from that 'freeze' he goes into from time to time if ya just feed him. Poor old fellow. Bless him!" John took Ben by the elbow and greeted him heartily, "Hi ya, Ben! I wasn't sure if ya were com'in in here this week or not. Glad ta see ya!" Ben just looked at him and closes his gaping mouth and sits down like a piece of dried out wood. "Hey, Ben, I got a fresh loaf of rye. How 'bout a beef on rye?" Ben doesn't answer but gives a slight nod, "yes". "Comin' right up, brother!" John cheers. He moves across the deli with exaggerated gestures as though he is serving the king of Prussia. (John believes that Ben may be an angel of some sort sent to test his compassion and heart.) He wants to prove his care of mankind by befriending this old guy. " Who knows who might be an angel?" he figures.