As I sat and watched the disheveled man
I wondered just where his troubles began.
With age on his face, he looked tired and haggard.
His shoes were worn and his clothes were tattered.
All that he owned was on his back,
Tucked inside a ragged backpack.
As he shuffled along people would stop and stare.
But, he kept moving on, he didn't seem to care.
What brought him to where he is today?
Where is his family? What would they say?
Does he have a home?
Or is he turly alone?
As he sits himself down and stares into space,
You can see the confusion upon his face.
His anguished cries go unheard,
As he ponders and never says a word.
There are others around him also dressed in rags.
With all their worldly possessions stuffed into torn bags.
They offer their hand and try to talk with him.
But, he doesn't even seem to notice them.
Alone in a corner he huddles at night
Until darkness gently fades into morning light.
Then once again he marches down that lonely road
Carrying with him his heavy load.
An abandoned soul dwelling in a broken shell.
Living in his own private hell.
I wonder, when he finally reaches his end,
Will he be alone, or will he have a friend?