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With cut up, bare feet a man walked.
The frayed ends of the too long pants tickled is toes.
Holes in the pants showed many old scars on the legs.
A simple white shirt covered the man's chest and stomach
And an old cut up coat covered his shoulders.
Fingerless gloves covered his hands.
The man's mouth showed but a strait line,
No emotion, no feeling.
His eyes, though blue,
Pieced the darkness as though a dark grey color.
His shaggy dirty blonde hair looked unkept,
As though the man had never brushed it.
The man lifted one frail hand and brushed away the hair that had fallen in his face.
As the sun slowly rose above the dark horizon,
And the man held his head high,
He faced another day as being a poor man.
He was a man who faced hard days every day.
A man who never backed down from life.
He was a man who represented men.
 Lumiere Cachee · Sun Jun 24, 2007 @ 03:27am · 2 Comments |
