Who loves a struggling man uncertain of his place. A doubting prophet or a bankrupt sage. Bereft of friends who wanders on alone.
All men are strangers in his eyes. Rushing through, it seems, their busy lives, their glance is cursory at best. No time for him, they hurry to their desk.
The doubt within him shreds him like a blade. The noise it makes leaves no room for peace as unremarked he struggles on alone. No destination but praying for release. The place were vacuum reigns, beyond the range of hope.
Such men as this are found on many streets, huddled in rags or blankets if they can.
What lifts a soul so buried in this place, forgotten by fortune or plan for some release. Victims of chance, disaster or a thirst. Who looks at him and sees some common thread. Some cause for hope that he might rouse himself, rebuild a life and some how start anew.
Sometimes as I walk through the streets, I chance on men like this and wonder why, I am still walking and going on my way while he lies there detached from those around. But if they look up, sometimes I see a light. Somewhere in there I see my brothers eyes.
countingducks 
When I travelled to London, I was shocked and upset by the amount of homeless people on the streets. I would give them money, offer them food etc and thank God that I was not in “their predicament”. After a year, I joined the masses, passing by and refusing to make eye contact…for many reasons. On the odd occasion, I rationalised my growing insensitivity by telling myself that “they must be on drugs” or worse “why dont they just help themselves, get a job…stop begging!”.
I now realise that man on the street could be anyone – someone who lost their job and had no safety net or family support, someone with mental health issues that the system failed and in this economic climate…someone who is living pay to pay and has a mortgage and debt and a whole lot of uncertainty. Me, you, anyone.
Thanks for creating content with compassion!
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THis is a poem waiting to take flight! Great insights expressed.
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So poetic. You see human beings, children of God, just like you. Your brother.
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I don’t know whether you mean your real sibling, or a brother of the human race, but that does not matter. Your writing is beautiful. You help me to look at the person, not through them.
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Beautifully and poetically written. I am in awe of the way you write.
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Your writing always amazes me. This was another wonderful story that I really enjoyed reading.
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The homeless are everywhere and my heart bleeds for them… many got there through misfortune. I have not met one yet that didn’t appreciate a kind act… there but for the grace of God…
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And he will never know you wrote of him today…
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