Freedom Poem by Bob Bowers

He seemed anchored.
Behind him
His home, a tent,
Glistened in the rain freezing down upon it.

Down the bank to his left
The Merrimack flowed,
Icy and cold
As his life.

A curl of smoke
Rose up from him,
Replacing the curls
That once adorned his weathered head.

I knew not
What brought him to this place,
His mind sheltered within,
While all outside brought him none.

His life lay
Strewn before him,
Damp bags
And cartons all his own.

He never spoke.
Wandered these streets
Unknown,
Never having arrived, nor left.

In summer,
He would sing,
An unknown song, without melody,
As he walked along the railroad bed.

At times,
At just the right moment,
If you caught him unaware,
He would smile.


Perhaps a song was in his heart
Those times
When all seemed right
And he seemed free.

Until I passed that way again.
Yesterday.
He was gone.
Freedom came and took him home.