Beggar

He knocks on doors, yet none swing wide,

His name, a whisper the wind won't ride.

His kin, once warm, now turn away,

As though his presence brings decay.

A beggar not for bread, but grace,

Yet every handshake finds no place.

Smiles that once would light his way

Now dim and falter, fade to grey.

He toils beneath the same bright sun,

Yet praise and kindness—he has none.

His heart still beats, his soul still dreams,

But wealthless hands hold silent screams.

He speaks, yet silence swallows whole,

A ghost that walks, yet none console.

For love, for kin, for friends he pleads,

Yet silver weighs the world’s decrees.

And so he wanders, lone and grim,

Not for his faults—but lack of him.