This simple man who walks alone
Desperately looking for light
Closed and scared lost unprepared
He knows something’s not right
He continues to do the usual things
Nothing interrupts his routine
He’s done the same job for twenty five years
He’s a well oiled predictable machine
He sleeps each night without concern
He’s consciously cold and uncaring
He takes no interest in the outside world
He doesn’t do emotion or sharing
He lives alone has no family or friends
With only himself to look after
He doesn’t believe in compassion or charity
Religion humour or laughter
He saves his money in a cardboard box
Terrified of what lies ahead
All he sees is a future full of pain
He can’t get death out of his head
He sits on his sofa watching endless tv
He’s doing the best he can
Who’s to say how anyone should be
I envy this simple man
Taken From The Book: Birth Slave Die By Kelvin Rush.
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