The Beggar

Lying on the street
Watching Life pass him by
Crippled by Social Confinement
Guarded by Negligence
Baked in glaring Heat

Pleading with soulful eyes
Bound by a loss of Light
Holding out a trembling hand
A lamentation of Mercy me
A sorrowful history of Poverty
Carved in his wrinkled palm
A predetermined course
Like a curse of inheritance
Binding; breaking
Fleeing through the pages of Time
And leaving a streak of tears
In each dying generation

One bowl of living
Porcelain; breakable
The way his frame felt
The way his bones were

A young boy looks on
The way the coins shone
Eager and fast
Snatches the bowl away
His breath stifled
Life void of meaning
Attacked by a pang of Conscience
Rebuking; reprimanding
Ashamed of stealing from his own
Trots back in the heat
Places the bowl at his feet
Those soulful eyes look up
Brimming tears of Gratitude
Echoes of Thankfulness
resounding within the four walls
of heart-wrenching silence.