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The Old Unemployed Man or a Suburban Poem

His oars (mind, arms, and legs) were insufficient as propellers to earn a living. In the underground´s nasty passageway; or was in his life´s nasty passageway? Anyway! There, he, like an imbecile, sat, another torn mendicant, holding up his hand to indifferent passers-by, asking for a gaze or just a word of hope. Hope! What hope? - The hope that remains as a candle into his heart. the little flame that every day fights the Almighty forlornness -. At night, unanswered the pray the candle would shrivel; and he became the symbol of a supplicant without faith, hopelessly holding up among his hands, and offering the burned out candle and misery of his life to others indifferent passers-by. There, at the underground´s nasty passageway. Or was it his own life´s nasty passageway? he huddled and covered with the black cloak of failure, remains sat in the midst of despair. Just till tomorrow.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

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Date: 12/25/2019 11:43:00 PM
So nicely expressed. God bless you.
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Date: 5/24/2019 12:12:00 PM
Hello Francisco, the old man is holding onto hope because that is all he has left. So he holds onto hope. Have a nice day my friend.
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