PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I met an old man,
beaten down but not yet broken,
resting under a cedar tree;
his boots scuffed beyond a color,
one heel missing,
so long on his journey
the soles worn paper thin.
I stopped to share the shade with him
and offer my water,
as he seemed parched
from his journey.
As I sat beside him,
he looked at me,
bushy eyebrows
nearly hiding his eyes,
dust covering his face,
lips swollen and cracked
and, as he slowly arose,
he said he wasn't thirsty.