Wanderer

Behind a solitary man
Lies a tragedy
Concealed in the grimace of a smile,
In the polite nod, all the while
The eyes look elsewhere.

On the other side of his silence

Lay, tucked and forgotten,
Tales – a day or year – of violence.
Eyes look across the distance
Of wide open spaces
To the kindness and graces
Of people long gone.

Now he walks down that road,

Unseen in a crowd,
Where each one bears a load,
Where each one holds a story –
Quite mundane, without glory –  
Like the trinket he will carry
From the one he said he’d marry.