His smile was like some kind of magic,

mysterious, leaning on the edge of darkness.

With his worn jeans and tattered jacket two sizes too big,

he was the type of man who could have easily slipped

into the background unnoticed and alone,

but that grin…

 

He sat on the bumper of a rusted old car,

tapping turquoise boots as he sang a tune.

It told told the tale of days gone by and the

ones left behind back when the world was good.

It wasn’t the story about unexpected kindness;

it was the story of beginnings.

 

He sang of those old boots walking too many miles

through the mud and muck, over roads

never meant to be crossed by the unprepared.

His melody was plaintive and true, yet he still smiled —

pouring out his heart to anyone who would listen.

Some did…

 

Because it was the coming through that mattered,

calling out to those fighting invisible battles of their own.

They knew the tune and found themselves humming along,

joining a chorus of wanderers bent on finding a way home.

They understand the secret behind the smile.

The notable embodiment of hope.

 

 

 

 

photo: Public Domain Pictures

prompts: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie – First Line Fridays, Pilgrimage Press, #writingandhealing, Poetic Asides, WordPress Daily Prompt