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.
Copyright © A Yorkshire Poet | Year Posted 2017
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