Murmurings of a Lone Man

The words of a lone man The ramblings on a bench under a tree The ducks and the geese looked on Fed with his scraps, with all he could give Murmuring thoughts Murmuring truths Murmuring reasons Murmurings lose Under the facade of a poor man A man living on the streets I saw the eyes of a cold man I saw scars on his cheeks I asked him if I could sit beside him here in the park on his bench. He acknowledged my presence and let me feel I had caused no offence. He showed the ducks his empty hands and they all looked at him so quietly. He said to them he had no more food or money. I asked him his name He asked: why ask that of me? Silence for some seconds then he said this to me: I have no name, my name has forsaken me. Under the whiskers and drawn face I see a much younger man. I asked if I could help him with notes of money in my hand. He said he need not my money because he could live off the land. A young veteran sat before me, someone who had fought for this land. He said his family couldn’t cope with his injuries - his mental scars! That they feared living with him in their world, someone who had killed in their house! So he pleaded to me to forget him, to pretend that we’d never met! As I watched him limp away I had never felt such despair and regret.