Wandering and Coping (?)–Poem #8

“There was a crooked man…”

Learned that little rhyme–somewhere, some time.

Why was he crooked?

Age? Arthritis? Safety?

Crooked people are closer to the ground.

Hunched over, their words go into the ground–

No repercussions from those who stand straight and spew hate.

Crooked people are ignored, passed over as insignificant.

“…who walked a crooked mile…”

Hard to see straight, stay straight, hunched over.

But the mile is walked, straight or crooked, isn’t it?

Everyone walks the mile, especially today–

Bent or straight, it must be done.

Does the crooked man not ever look up?

He probably looked up–once.

What did he see?

A world he could not reach.

Poor crooked man walking a crooked mile.

Making his way, but seeing so much

that others will never see.

He wanders, and knows this,

this is his way of coping with what he can have

and the elements smile to realize they are seen.

One thought on “Wandering and Coping (?)–Poem #8

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