The Beggar

My spirit is but a bereaved beggar,
his ragged robes are but a cowardly cloak.
My mangled mouth, does seek to silence
his wicked wailing.
But mine eavesdropping eyes do solemnly spy
through his pestilent pain, the liberation of love
which may finally free him from his haggard hell.

Seeing the bereaved beggars eyes
he aspiringly asks for helping hand
and in those eloquent eyes, I do solemnly spy
the prophetic promised land.

For he has a soul beyond compromise;
It is a land of love and brilliant beauty.
It is tended by tremendous diligent duty;
for his hidden happiness does religiously reside,
in his craving core.

Thus I have directly derived the loving law...
for his soul is my soul too,
I must embrace that beggar evermore;
for he is me, and I am he.