Antwan

The smile of an old bent man…

Scarcely noticed by the angle he lives his life in…

Could be the purest sign of love I’ve ever seen…

Humbled, as I felt pain, not mine, His through me, that is on a never-ending refrain…

His constant look upward to see life passing him by…

Dressed so sharply, not to mask, but to enhance…his worthiness, class, respect, and grace, with such dark blue eyes…

The view of life is rarely chosen, nor it is a hinderance or blessing, it is simply…us…

So uniquely crafted to be a part of the mosaic of existence…

A day, month, or year…all blends so perfectly…

When we stop to see its beauty…

A half-smile from a bent man, who took the time to shake my hand…

How lucky am I?

Maybe as lucky as a man, whose crippled body shines with hue of peace, love…of dignity…

May I be half the man he is…please…

Antwan, may I call you, my friend?

It’s a rare day when I meet man that was and is a legend...

Who looked me in the eye as he shook my hand.