A Bum, A WorkHorse, A Life...

The Musing:

He stood there
By the side of the road,
Walking to his no-where
And for a moment I cared.
I watched him
Wanted to know where he was going,
Why he was there,
If he had a home.
I could not weep for him
If he did not.
I could not care about him
He did not.
I watched him day by day.
I learned his ways,
And in my mind,
I took on his plight.
I took on his woe.
I took the only thing he had;
His knowledge
Of his Life
I cared not.
And walking away
He was dead to me.


Sorta a first edit:

Walking, trotting, pausing
No pride in your equestrian stance
Solid, grounded, cautious and tired
Slow stepping. Solid stepping. Down.
Hold heavy the load you no longer bear.
Shades of straps and bags and long gone jobs
Of some fall
Into some hole
Onto some injured joint
Unto some fate
And I recall your tremulous eyes
Your bums grime tears
Blackened paste on unsteady brow
Tell your story
Tell me your pain
Let me know how it feels to fail
How it is to live scorned
How you survive
Teach me survival
I'll learn from you the worst
And turning
I'll walk away
Never to remember you again.



a second edit:

I watch you standing there;
Walking proud and tall
Have you no home to visit?
No job to do?
Is your work done?
Memories not recalled.
You pitiful, merciful, dirty, bum.
Walk with me a moment
Showing great worlds of pain
Throbbing pulsing anguished temples.
Your dirty face, the grime of years.
I turn my head. Shamed.
Learn me, help me understand.
Give to me your knowledge
You have nothing else to give.
Then let me walk away.
I am not your prodegy
I weep for you... someday.
And slowly walk away.


And a thrid edit:

Your image proud and tall,
Has no home to visit,
No job to do,
No harbour safe,
Work undone eternally waiting.
Memories not recalled.
Pitiful, merciful, dirty,
A bum. A workhorse for slaughter.
Walking side by side a moment,
On weary ankles buckling,
Great worlds of pain,
Every grimacing step.
Throbbing, pulsing, anguished temples.
A dirty face; the grime of years.
Unwashed, unloved, uncaring, uncared-for.
I turn my head. Shamed.
And lead still on.
Teach; Tell your story.
Having nothing else to give;
Give of all you know.
Give this hard life, and tell well.
Tell to no prodegy,
Strounger backs; attentive,
Grasping this abandoned departure.
Weeping for you... someone, somewhere, someday.
Not here. Not now.
Slowly walking away.
Gone forever since long ago.