Shuffling his way through the throng of humanity,
He sought out the stall with the cheapest produce.
With the shaking of hands he counted out his misery,
The pittance he had to live on for the week.
Pushed and shoved, he was seen by no one,
Just another old man
in a sea of oldness.
Laughing aloud he pushed his way to the bar,
Anyone in his way fodder for his drive and vitality.
One more round, and why not?
The night was yet young, and he had a taste
for what was to come.
The girls giggled as they looked at his muscular frame,
The sparkle of the eyes, the cut of the cloth.
Tonight he would not be alone.
As he shuffled along the lane, he almost fell,
The weight of the bag enough to break his pass.
In the solitude of his abode he slumped on a chair,
Exhaustion seeping from his bones,
Before preparing his lunch he had need of rest.
With sadness in his eyes he surveyed the dirty room,
He had neither strength, nor money,
to make it clean.
After barely a few hours of sleep, he jumped into action,
Gone the feel of the alcohol from the evening past,
The clear head tuned to the coming day.
Power flowed through his body, his holy temple,
his firm muscles a thing of great pride.
Late for work he pulled on his tracksuit,
And ran all the way in, quicker than the bus.
A quick wash, clean clothes, a sense of total focus,
Ready to face anything the day could throw his way.
He awoke with a start, trying to remember
where he was.
He struggled to stand up, to prepare his lunch,
At least one good meal he would need to eat.
By evening the money, and the energy, would be gone.
With a dirty pot, he cooked his humble fare,
Such a strain to prepare it all,
He barely had the stamina left to eat it.
Having skipped breakfast his stomach rumbled,
His lunch would be a feast fit for giants.
The mornings work a thing of great ease,
With sharpness of mind,
and vigour of body,
He was the king, the ruler of his realm.
At his favourite restaurant he ate his fill,
Admired by all for the hearty appetite.
A special smile from the new girl serving,
He would add her number,
to all the numbers.
With relief came the evening, the end of the day.
His stomach empty, the constant pangs of hunger.
He staggered to the bedroom, his place of peace,
Here he could let himself go, lie still,
and block it all out.
The sporadic sleep of the night,
His only painless time of all the day.
The tired body lay, the weary mind drifted,
He wondered when it would all end,
and prayed for a quick release.
This was his favourite time of day,
Running through the park, the evening colours,
Sweat flowing down his magnificent frame.
He felt the power, the energy, life boiling
in his veins.
Picking up the pace, he pushed himself even faster,
He was in his time, he held it all.
His life a thing of great beauty, living every moment,
never would this end.
