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Vincent Barrowcliffe


Miseries


Walking with sorrow's load,
That day, as I was passing by the road,
A man lay beneath a shed,
Without an utterance, he, everything said,
His eyes as dark and deep as an ocean,
His face, without a mark of cunn,
It seemed, that he had been expelled from life,
In a bitter strife,
Miseries, drifting through the wrinkles of his face,
And his past, was a shrouded mystery, which I could not trace;

Shivers, ran up my spine,
Because his sorrows were greater than mine,
Torments were expressed through his weeping face,
Help, I could not, as I was busy in my many a case,
I walked away, feeling selfish, pitying for the old man,
Another day, then, would I help him if I can,
Feeling unsure if he would be alive till then,
He faced, I thought, the troubles of all men,
And, as I passed by, he still lay beneath the shed,
And that is all, about this, I could have felt, I could have said.

Submitted: Saturday, February 09, 2013
Edited: Saturday, February 09, 2013

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  • Gold Star - 15,735 Points Gajanan Mishra (2/9/2013 7:45:00 AM)

    Beneath the shed everything is going on. good poem. I like it.
    I invite you to read my poems and comment. (Report) Reply

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