A truth bindle
carries with it many a fold
Once it’s opened
and laid out flat; keeps no hold
Nor does it
bring much warmth - in the deep of winter
When morning
rules enforce one to take a stroll.
The night
shelter’s bell rings seven times a reason
To find another
day’s keep and a safe place
To ward off
the bitter grips of class treason.
Surviving alone
but with a threadbare coat of gray spun.
Standing
along the highway straits
The lone wayfarer
waits
For a notice,
by the speeding travelers, for good fortune.
“Where are
you headed, old man?” inquires his fate.
“I am
following my life to a bar, a drink and to my fellows of familiar traits”
And with that
he kept his secrets and burden buried
Deep in his life’s
knapsack which helps him slip the insanity.
He mentioned that
his brother Joe, was ferried
Unto another
life where trouble and pain were no longer married.
Hence, he now
walks all alone until it is time that he too, be carried.
He stepped
out from the black carriage unto the cold;
Wished me
well and god speed back to family and home.
Thanking me
for the time and a kindness to behold
For everyone
will someday reach the same old;
Understanding
that a truth bindle has a worth that cannot be told.
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