You see him walking on the side of the road
Gray, scraggly beard to his chest,
His years of experience carrying his load.

You wonder where he is going,
What he's leaving behind.
Is anybody missing him?
Has life, to him, been so unkind?

His feet are moving backwards
And he's looking straight through you.
His deep, gray eyes,
Piercing the windshield,
Diving into your soul.

A face weathered by the elements,
It's impossible to tell how long he's been
trapped inside his freedom.

And you know,
You're just one step away from his world.

What used to be an unpredictable, charismatic smile
Is now an apathetic scowl...

Is there something you could do
To pull him back IN,
Or keep yourself from falling OUT?

His leather-skinned face in the rear-view mirror,
Quickly becoming a fading reflection...
Out of YOUR sight
Out of YOUR mind.

Turn on your windshield wipers.
It's starting to rain.

© tourniquette