A Wanderer

In the early morning’s chill

When the sun begins to rise

Lighting the lonely road I take

Under flawless, blushing skies

Along that morning pilgrimage

A man passes by—

Nothing odd about his image

Save the look within the eye

He throws a melancholy glance—

A slight nod of the head, meeting just my eye—

Something morosely beautiful behind—

As shattered glass against the sky

The electric windows

Reflect some time long gone

A time of life and hope and sorrow

And without a word, he wanders on.

Again the morning sun begins to rise

And lo!

Are the heavy, shattered, lidded eyes...

I wonder why he wanders so.

His name and trade I know not

For he lets slip not even a breath—

Perhaps even he’s forgot

To think of life beyond pain of death.

And every dawn I see my wanderer

Ambling— misery ‘pon his face— 

But with purpose in his step— wandering in search

Of a lifetime out of place.