The Beggar on the Stairs


Never past the point of caring


I wait.  Humming tunes of the forgotten.

I dream of the home under trees where I met life,

where I held death in my arms

where my own bones will never rest.


I pray not for you to heal these stones

but the feet that so often tread them.

May they learn through the dirt

on their shoes how to find


the point of caring.

The End

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