late night dress-up

was it dirt smeared away from his eyes
like some ritualistic makeup
or his inner cherokee?
his face, heavily lined
but healthily dark,
hair free of grays
and clothes a tattered mess.
inside he was young
and his smile revealed the youth
still alive inside.
his words were slurred
like he couldn't fit his mouth around them
to pronounce them properly.

another man in striking contrast
he lives for his health
straightedge and passionate
yet they both sit on the streets
of portsmouth
begging, for lack of a better word
for money, to keep a living.

mr. lekler, he plays the dulcimer
and the melodic pings that shoot out
from in front of him
create beauty you cannot ignore
yet the drunks stumbling their way
down the streets,
they are blind
or rather, deaf
to his passion and his living
and it's terribly sickening.
the words he relayed to you, that night
gave you hope and realization
for his thoughts are your thoughts
and his wisdom is here to help you
to give you guidance.

the cherokee looking for weed on the streets
far away from home was he
and he scrounged yuppies for dirty pocket money
that would become dirtier by his hands
but he also had some stories to tell
that furthered your appreciation,
fed your heart and broadened your mind.
he is the bad conscience in all of us
and he is the hippie everyone strives to be.

their words told you to go in opposite directions
but their hearts lead the same path
and so does yours.