I may live unsheltered,
not knowing when my next meal
my shoes may have holes in its soles
and my pride ripped and torn,
but I have no care in the world.
I’m free of convention,
free of the balls and chains
that restrict and bind.
Don’t feel sorry
when you see me pulling a cart
across a busy street
‘cause I’m free to let my beard grow,
free to collect bottles and coins,
free to walk at my own pace
without a clock to control my time.
Nothing’s chasing me.
Nothing’s stopping me
from exercising my personal liberty.
i envy the man on the street in that way, his freedom of convention
I envy the person’s courage, but not that life.
Your poem suggests that people are homeless by choice. This may be the case for a few, but by no means the majority.
True, many are homeless by difficult circumstances. Some, however, seem to relish the freedom, although extremely difficult and unhealthy. There was one person in particular that I was thinking when I wrote this poem.
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
Hey, I really like this. Very good, Mark.
It is great.
Thank you. 🙂
There is a lot to be said for personal freedom!
Yes, especially in a world where others are constantly trying to control us. 🙂🙂
Sadly, so very true!
Ok, is that you, your beard, lol!