A Poem of Bearing Witness
By Paul E. Cheney
A beggar stands bored
Reaches for his pocket
Finds nothing restored
His cigarette hangs
As disgust plagues his ways
Remorse for him
A way of life
Slow death, without change
Paths to follow, or rearrange
I felt sorry, as often I do
When many a poor man
Enters my view
No other direction, nor inflection
Of an exit, for a prosper
Richer sight ahead
Many wishing, and knowing
They were better off dead
He shakes come morning
Worries without warning
Begs at passersby
Wonders not at questions why
Drinks ’til sunset
Considering tomorrow’s upset
Another day for the beggar man
Chalk one off for you and I
We can be there
Like him
Fate
Future
On a whim
