In His Shoes

Lonely wanderer
where do you go,
where do you come from,
what made this so?
He passes me by with his head held up high,
heart on his sleeve,
humbly abiding.
Watching intently from behind the glass
at the sight of this man I am filled with compassion.
His dreaded locks made from the dust of the earth,
eyes filled with deep longing,
belonging to a world who discounts him,
no concern for his hurt.
Knapsack on his back,
hands in his pocket,
a locket of timelessness trapped in his mind.
He crosses my path,
his eyes looking yonder.
Despite all his troubles,
his face still holds a wonder.
And I ponder
a day in the shoes of this lonely wanderer.