From Another Perspective

Covered in mud, living in squalor
destitute, homeless, hungry
Been that way most of his days.

A miserable life it's been.
Now old, infirm, weak
But it has been his own.

He's lived through pain
seen loved ones suffer, even die
All struggling to survive.

Death common, death frequent
it's a miracle he hadn't passed away yet
But not so viewed in everyone's eyes.

Though a miserable life it is
It is his, and he is happy.
Content within his ways.

Though not perfect, he manages
but not enough for some it seems
for some to consider him already dead.

Twas a morning that started like any other,
till picked up and treated as dead, he was.
Making a case for life, but ignored.

But pushing his luck on life
resulted in a blow to the head.
As his eyes went black, he heard the familiar cry;

The sound of striking metal
A shout for all to hear, and heard often
the call of, "Bring out your dead!"