Half-sitting, half-laying
His hat in the street
A few coins twinkle there
Nearby, a drummers beat.

His eyes barely open
For what’s there to see
A businessman passes
Throws two quarters, maybe three.

Out of guilt or compassion
I’d say the former not the latter
For his eyes never left his watch
As though he doesn’t even matter.

But the old man doesn’t care
He’s already learned how to cope
What he really requires
Is for us to give him hope.

A bard in me, I say to you
You that cannot see his pain
For it does indeed show itself
Time and time again.

If you peer closely
At the corner of his eye
Ah, but first you must sit a spell
And let the sun creep through the sky.

Until time then rewards
It now begins to swell
A lone tiny tear
Has finally climbed the well.

Slowly it builds
Its journey long
Vibrating in rhythm
To the drummers song.

It finally falls
Sliding over the cheek
Pounding through the stubble
Gliding where it’s sleek.

Hanging from the chin
Posing in its singularity
And showing all
In utmost clarity.

Only a man
With a broken heart
Cries with
Lonely tears.