An old man, thin and frail
Smile that extends to his deep set eyes
Veins that have stood with him through the decades
Lines that have shaped with his life
Not a glamorous job, not a different vibe
Not different goals, the same old strive
Money for the food, roof for the family
Survive the system, manage bare dignity
But he was once young, he was once handsome
He once had eyes filled with dreams
He dreamed of love, he dreamed of standing up
He too dreamed of purpose and meaning
Is it fair that only some have the chance
to pursue their dreams beyond youth?
Should privilege define our lives so?
Because that is our ugly truth