Walking Man

March 5, 2008

Slowly he walks ,
backpack in hand
no end in sight,
each day is a struggle,
so he walks- moving slowly
his shoes, worn and beaten, make a soft shuffle as he walks,
he is the walking man

He walks through the cold, snow and sleet
People run past in a blur
He is barley a glimpse in their day
He remembers their faces
Thought they forget his
He is the walking man

He has no home to return to
No family to miss him
No one to wonder where he went
He is a nobody- forgotten, invisible
Alone but for me,
I see the walking man

This poem is about a walk I went on I was walking around and infront of me was a homeless man he had everything he owned in his backpack and was meandering the path, I walked behind him for awhile then we started talking.