16 > 17/01/2017…



A battered and scarred Guitar strung tightly across his back,

faded and torn army surplus jacket beneath,

covering a tattered blue-check shirt,

all hanging loosely

on this unwashed survivor of Life.

Walking the bricks,

he turns his tricks.


Begging-here and Busking-there,

eyes hidden behind a scratched pair of mirrored sunglasses,

as so to hide from the charity-giver’s stare.

Wandering about, begging this and that,

he finds a spot and unsheathes his only love

… tune’s it with a tickle.

Then…he plays a song.
Caressing his guitar

All his heart suddenly cries-out,

… and all the shopper’s walk on by .



In his mind,

The rags he wears become stitched with gold,

cold brick beneath becomes a stage,
strewn with light and lasers
other musicians and roadies

and the people of his special world before him look on,
calling his name,

with adoration,

… giving the love he has never received.


In his hands,

this man holds his life…



Michael John Kildare

17/01/2017 (c)


Published by

The Bear Works

I am an Australian male fighting hard to make common sense of a world and civilization that appears to be tumbling down the rabbit hole. I cherish all the small everyday moments that, in totality, by-pass mere existence, forming, shaping and growing an individual Life...an individual's Life. And so I write...

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