The Man Who Smiles

An attempt at turning a simple sight I beheld (a homeless man walking along), into something profound. Tell me how I did :)

His words are unheard. His stories unended.

His walk is a limp, his limp is befriended.

 

By the stench of defeat, it reeks of death,

That’s granted to those who wasted their last breath.

 

But he smiles a smile, and presses on forward,

He hasn’t the slightest where he’s headed toward.

 

His woe is uneasy; his will is rotting and broken.

His jokes are known to him as unspoken.

 

What fumes come around the solemn street’s corner?

It’s the man who smiles when he should be a mourner.

 

I sit and watch him, and avoid his gaze,

His façade is unwavering for days and days.

 

Denial is his morning, rejection is his night.

He cries in his dreams, and wakes to his plight.

 

I felt pity for this limping man, who does forever roam,

Because I’ll never know how it feels to die alone.

The End

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