Stringless
A red light has stopped my journey,
And has granted unto me
But a few seconds to see
And study
The man on the side of the street.
His feet
Are covered by shoes
That are dirty and worn out
And have no doubt
Entered the time span
Of their last days.
He plays
A stringless guitar
Which by far
Is the oldest looking guitar
My eyes have seen.
However,
He plays his guitar
With a smile on his face
In an unusual place
On the side of the street.
A deadbeat,
Society would say he is
But he doesn't know my story
And I don't know his.
Society would look at the shoes on his feet
And the fact that he stays on the side of the street
With dirt on his clothes
And dirt on his face.
Society would say he's the ultimate disgrace.
But is he really?
You see,
Beyond the dirt on his face
And the disgrace of his place
Is something he will not hide...
Something that shows his inner grace
From his soul deep down inside--
While people laugh at him
And point at him
Day after every day
With a smile on his face,
His guitar in place....
He plays on anyway.
~T.S. Wilkins~
