Shadows of the Past

I noticed without noticing

that figure lounging there,

with stubble grown across a cheek

and filth encrusted hair;

he sprawled across the doorway

to an empty, soaped glass store,

and as I traveled on my way

his voice, cracked and implored;

"Oh look upon me, mister man;

whose life is far more fine,

for once like you I hurried by

a prisoner of time.

I scurried without pausing

and ignored the pain of life

but, one day then I did awake

without job, home or my wife.

Now I lay here in this filth

unkempt, ashamed and ill,

and look upon the world anew

with eyes long trained and skilled.

You see you hurry out of fear

that one day you might be,

the figure laying here alone

replacing even me.

For each day is ever unknown

and we'd rather not sustain

that feeble little gnawing rat

that lives inside our brain;

at just how heavy is the load

we pile upon our backs,

denying that our lives can change

like some rail car on the tracks.

We haughtily conspire in mind,

to pay no heed to those

whose life has somehow gone astray

as they lay in tattered clothes.

We pander to the money men,

we pander to the wealth,

we linger in the sunlit world

and avoid the shadows stealth.

Look now here in the darkness,

at this place where all is lost;

for one day you might linger here

and daily count the cost.