He Walks

He walks like any other day,

Through the streets' sidewalks, and

When necessary, crosses them to 

Become part of traffic and peoples'

Minute seconds of consciousness.

 

Ragged patents from his pants,

Stained with oil and charcoal; his

Shirt properly matching the pants

With stains of fallen ordor beneath 

His armpits.

 

And the peoples merely take a glimpse 

From the corner of their eye while trying

To maintain a picture of their 

Obligated task and luxurious sight of

Efficient living, they lose the 

Reality of empathy and compassion,

No, they have it, but surpress it, with

The forced separation from empathy.

 

But he moves along, he knowns not

The lives of them peoples, 

But simply keeps quiet, and works

His way inside a garbage,

Hoping to find life and cope 

With it, in order to not feel

Surpressed by the lives of the peoples.

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