Written by Cindylou601
Copyright 2010

The old man’s eyes
They could not lie
All his hardships
Sewn into his skin
That he was forced to wear
For so many years
Faith lost
Happiness denied
Became the reason
For his precious tears

He came to accept his fate
Victim to the elements
Victim to society
Victim to economy
A family that won’t talk to him
They’re ashamed at the man
He has become

He can’t remember
The last time he had a hot shower
Or slept in a clean warm bed
Or hugged his children
Or tell them he loved them
He had everything
Now he has nothing
A story only he can share

People walk by
And give him that “look”
That was all too familiar
Trying not to make eye contact

He relied on odd scraps
Left in the alley
Behind restaurants in the east end of town
And the odd time that someone
On the streets
Would throw him a coin or two
He’d get a hot coffee
At the corner variety store

He was walking his usual route
On a friday night
It had become his special place
He made sure he was never followed
The smells from the restaurant
Always so fragnant and inviting

He approached the garbage bin
Being careful
Not to make noise
He opened the bin ever so gently
When he heard the back door open
In the doorway
Was a little boy
Couldn’t have been more
Than 9 yrs old
His mother lovingly
Standing behind him
The young boy
Looked scared and uncertain
As he slowly took 2 steps
Down the small cement staircase…
He stopped
Extended his arms out
Revealing a small cardboard box
That he held in his precious hands
He smiled at the old man
Like only an innocent child can
And said…
“Mister? My name is bobby. I told my mom how I always see you come around. My mom wanted me to give you something, its some leftovers from our dinner tonight, steak, potatoes and her delicious gravy. Its okay..she made lots. Pls take it”

The little boy placed the box on the ground
And went to stand by his mom
Looked at the man and smiled
The old man
Wiped a tear from his eye…
“Thank you” he said “for your kindness to me, I’m so grateful. May God bless you and your family”
He picked up the box
Tipped his raggedy old hat
Smiled at his new angels
And started back
To the deserted building he called “home”

That night, God was smiling down on that little boy, his mother and that old man, and every Friday night after that for a very long time 🙂

This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.


  1. lovely and so hearttfelt taking time to be kind to those less fortunate

  2. dan noble (the larks) says:

    I love this. reading through your work i can see what a talent you have. thank you x

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