Beggar Man -- Revisited

The Story of the Post: The original poem was written in 1991. Following a Big Tent prompt, I revised it. The original is here.

The Beggar Man -- Revisited

The dusty road meandered

past old worn out, dried trees.

An empty tin can rattled;

the only coin in it seeking company,

like any other lost soul.

Lost in the darkness of a void.

A void so unfathomable and frightening.

A pair of feet passed by.

He sat there, still,

very still;

the wizened old man with

pain dulled eyes

staring unseeingly into

little clouds of dust raised by feet.

Feet scurrying to and from 

Infinity.

The tin can picked up courage,

voiced its complaint.

Still more feet.

Denser cloud.

Courage turned to boldness.

Drawing forth a louder protest

from the very core of its essence.

The listless eyes in the wrinkled face,

focused with difficulty on the legs.

Legs busy.

Legs uncaring.

Legs unfeeling.

The can now pleaded.

Pleaded piteously.

The man's voice reinforced the plea.

Not with a word,

Not with a cry -

but a mere, almost inaudible grunt.

Old worn out hands

Shaded the now pleading eyes,

as the upturned face caught the full

wrath of the morning sun.

Feet. More feet.

Now rushing, almost at a run.

One trod on his stick.

From somewhere above a

hurriedly flung apology

was lost in the crowd's hurry

and the man's senile reflex.

The tin cried now. Openly.

Feet flew past.

Clouds thickened.

The eyes blinked.

And then it all subsided.

The final cry, waning slowly

into a small "clink".

Then...

Silence.

The clouds settled.

No more feet.

A whimper from the disappointed throat.

The eyes again unfocused.

The dusty road meandered

past old, worn out,

exhausted trees.

---

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