Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Threadbare clothes and a backpack;
It was one foot in front of the other.
Behind the bushes on the highway;
One dead end found, and then another.
No job, no cash no future,
A desperate world so vast…
He remembers drugs and the trauma,
Forgetting his family and small town past.
He can’t tell you if it was the war,
Or his love for a hard rock band…
Numbing the pain, more than warmth,
Was reason enough to roam the land.
His photo from twenty years ago,
As a cute kid in the fourth grade…
Might alter our condemning opinions,
Before another conviction is made.
Someone used to love him
His parents and high school friends…
What crisis lost those friendships,
Causing his walk that never ends?