He walked with a poise which could only be birthed from burden. Still,
he stood with a sly arrogance. Smug, as if he knew nothing at all
about the shoals most men chose to investigate, but somewhere along
the way had found an ocean and been able to keep it for himself. His
figure was most unkempt. With brooding eyes resting deeply above
a wirey beard wisping as he walked. He was of fare skin but near
nil of it could be seen beaneath the smudged and tarry grime which
called his body home. His teeth were seldom witnessed beaneath the veil
of coarse hair, yet under the bushy cloud you could tell he was always
smiling, His clothes wore the scars of long cold nights. A canvas jacket
,Obviously once a hue of red, now camoflauged much like his skin,was far
to big for even him. He was tall but thick, like a country boy. His jeans
replete with damage revealed stained longjohns which hugged his long legs.
Smoking, he walked along the cracked streets aimlessly. For no home
waited for this man. No warm bed to lie upon. No sheets to swim within.
No family which missed him, awaiting his arrival. Yet as he walked,
watching the blue-collar busybees of the city rush along to play house
With there routine and melodrama, he smiled. For a schedule sickened
him. Happiness did not exist, nor could it exist. Not with the embuliant
intinctual drives of humanity. The unquenchable thirst for prestiege.
The voracious hunger for sensationalism. The unyielding desire for
validation. All happiness, often short-lived, was precarious in the
eyes of this man. A man with nothing in the eyes of a world which had
swept him under its rug and filed him away as one of the unfortunates.
Appaulingly he smiled back at the world knowing he was one of the fortunates.
No longer fettered by the shackles of materialism. The sun inched down
reluctantly slowly estinguishing itself within the oceans breast. Now, still,
Once again he observed, marveled by its simple beauty.
"Such miraculous events like these are what make me smile" He mumbled
Once, long ago he had slaved to be recognized as one of the lucky
ones. With an honest nine to five and a beautiful family he could
boast with one view of his wallet-sized portrait, resting above the
atm card he knew would always offer a reprieve with a promise of
short-lived fullfillment. One day he came home as if any other day.
twenty five minutes of traffic and a scenic detour to his suburban
shangrulah. Accept this day was different. Very different. his prized
lawn, which was a usual sunday barbeque conversation piece, was strangled
By ominous yellow banners barring "caution" in redundance. Aghast he stood
As the effigy of his family lie in traced white tape a'top his bloodstained
navaho white carpet; another gift from his card. That was the day he realized
, In the midst of such despair, that all things in this world of bankrupt
Idealists were temporary. That such things as the sunset, which he had
witnessed everyday were those which were infinite and beyond a price
tag. Or a pat on the back. Or even the love of a catalogue family.
As the sun took her last breath he began to walk again. Smiling, as always,
with a sense of ease only experienced by those most distant from the
daily battles of ego. As he arrived to his bench he waved hello to the
fat woman which shook on the bench beside him. He looked to the moon as
He sat down and thanked god for revealing to him his purpose.