I read this article today about beggars in Hawick, on High Street. Here is the link. I think this is England, excuse my ignorance. I also saw a few beggars on my own today while driving through Las Vegas, Nevada. One in particular, mixed with this headline, led to today's poem, "The Beggar & The Skeptic."
She sleeps on a bed carved from olive roots,
A castaway since birth,
with unforgiving sight, and crooked teeth
A poisoned eagle's message lures her,
a liar says it's time to leave
Go disguised in the morning when you rise
Walk through the desert and weeds, do not stop,
until you reach the wild sea, (pretending to be peaceful and trouble free)
The beggar abides, hopeful to please
He smokes from his two-faced opal pipe,
smirking as he watches with two shrouded men
She begs, as she was told, for anything the giving hands will give,
food, money, madness, advice
She receives
The howling winds and skeptic plus two all watch her silent scream
They used to beg with wailing rocks, they used to believe, these skeptics three
She does not stop, plowing through concrete jungles chalked with dirty intentions,
worse than coyote cries and sunburned eyes
As a child she was covered in salt
The beggar lies, the beggar lies
The skeptic justifies, the skeptic justifies
Days turn to years, when she reaches the sea, the eagle flies, talons deep, the beggar and the skeptic plus two meet
They are the same
Reunited, only to be asked to flee
It's not safe, say the skeptics three
The wise man circles his hands, mixing smoke and images in his mind
He draws a picture, and says they must go east
The skeptic questions, the beggar agrees
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