Shades of brown:The color of his eyes
The color of wet cardboard
And the color of the mud his cardboard shelter sits in.
The color of shit
The color of a torn up sleeping bag
And the color of the dirt on his hands and face.
The color of tobacco
The color of a weak cup of coffee
And the color of his wild, matted mess of hair.
The color of struggle
The color of bitter apathy
And the color of a lonely, wasted life.
The people passing by him try to live their lives
In yes or no, in right or wrong, in black or white
But he is trapped inside these shades of brown.
I wrote this almost exactly a year ago. My life now is in a completely different phase... but his? His is probably the same as it was then. Where can you go when there's no where left to turn?
It makes me appreciate my life that much more... the things I struggle with in my life are minuscule in comparison to the difficulties that others deal with on a regular basis. So I close my eyes and count my blessings... and say a prayer for that man as I fall asleep.