crosswinds

caught a glimpse of an
old man crying, having lived
anonymously 98 wasted years
unrecognized, seized his
aged heart in helpless wrinkled hand,
going with nothing to prove
his existence but frayed
stack of journals, unread,
unappreciated, piles of emotions
unrequited, ignored,
asked why me? with blind eyes
used to seeing so much, begged
for the probationary clause of god's whim,
wondering why not me?
what did I do wrong? was I not good enough?
what didn't I say?
and
I didn't have the time to
pick his lifeless body from the street
or say a meaningless word,
what with all the poems
blowing away--