Wednesday, January 9, 2019

The Beggar

I am a beggar slowly groping my way down a dim lit path
My feeble voice, my fingertips will all, in due time, onward pass
I am a breath of wind that whistles, gently strokes the window glass
Speaking words that dissipate, they fall away, they will not last

The dust perhaps, on which you dance, was once a man better than I
A man who's deeds caused you to swoon, went on and taught the world to fly
But now the earth is his abode and back to ruin he now slides
And I sit here amidst his essence, lift my vision to the sky.

Do not waste your own concern, this is not melancholy prose
I do not envy those who walk the roads that I can never go
For in the end there is no tally, no epic, formidable foe
We will lie silent together, from whence we came, we all will go

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