OLD MAN

Down the street a fading silhouette walks;
No specific direction, no specific address
Where to spend the night….
It does not really matter; more than a roof
Over his head, he needs a shelter for his soul.

People from far mock at him and call him names
Some old rags cover his thin beaten bones; and,
His face has engraved the marks of the passage
Of time. ….
His eyes have seen the cruelty and danger of
The streets at night…..
Drinking and inhaling substances to be able
To fly.

His tired being rather be in jail, where at least,
A warm meal, he can have….
He does not know when he is more free, if in,
Or out….
Does not matter to him, if it’s day or if it’s night,
The sequence of time is irrelevant; imprisoned he
Is at all times.

He sees the progress of society; like an empire
Built by wealthy men, right in front of his eyes
But, people walk by him too busy to stop to ask.
His name, he has forgotten….
He just responds to old man.

Asked to get out of the way, he is yelled at,
All the time; while, people rush to their
Everyday duties to make out of this world,
A better place for mankind.

Under a bridge to let the rain pass; he counts
The drops that fall down from the sky….
They remind him of his mother’s tears,
Blessing him, just before she died.

It seems like a hundred years or more; he
Has been through so much….
Surrendered in misery and agony, not only
His body trembles, but, his soul does too….
From far; he can hear the laughter and
The celebration of life, in a world that is too
Busy to stop to ask.

His eyes still open; he can count the stars.
They guide him into a place, where there is
Light and colors, like a rainbow after the
Rain, across the sky….
He is embraced and invited to a warm
Supper; where he is asked for the very
First time, in a very long time,
What is your name?
He is happy. He is free!

The morning light breaks; a sweet music is
Sang by the birds above the bridge….
A cleaning crew finds his thin body,
With no signs of life….
One of the men un-wraps the corps
From the old rags….
He must be no older than seven years old,
the man says.

Yes, I am no old man; I am only seven years old,
His spirit replies from above the clouds.

By: Diana Benavides patented and registered by author