Did he smoke away his troubles
Or merely contemplate his life?
Were his day filled with joy and love
Or long hard labor and strife?
Maybe he was simply thankful
For those who had passed his way
Maybe he was resting and reflecting
The passing of another day
Maybe he toiled the sustaining fields
And came home to the aroma of a meal
Maybe he roamed the countryside
And living by chance was his deal
Maybe he provided for family
Using strength of muscle and bone
Or perhaps he was a solitary man
Who spent his nights alone
Maybe he was a faceless man
Simply living life like you or me
Doing the best he could each day
And reaching for all that he could be
When he quietly posed for the painter
Did he think the world would want to know
The contemplations of his heart
Or for which way the winds of his soul did blow?
This is an entry for One Shot Wednesday.