A Call Out To the Moon

I watch him from my city window

Down in the alley, just below

He's dirty, barefoot, seems unkept

I wonder where he stays or if he has slept

He leans backwards

Steam billowing from his mouth into the chilled air

He calls out into the darkness but I don't hear despair

It's more a primal call, more innate

As if this is who he is, this is his fate

Not just a mad man howling at the moon

Instead with a freedom that seems in full bloom

It's an independence he consumes

Untamed, wild and free

A part of me envious at what I see

As he howls into the night

Not a care in this world, or who is in sight

I watch as people just pass him by

Acting as if they don't hear his primitive cry,

No one stopping, asking him why

Forgetting to see the human being behind his eye

I watch like he is calling his ancestors, his people, as he bellows into the sky

Exhaling the cage society has placed him in as he lies

Along the cold pavement or an alley way in the night

Without seeing the soul, his circumstance, his insight

He might not be what we assume

His perception may not be one of doom

But one of decision

Having a different vision

Unable to live in the shackles of a man made society

Or rules, ways of life, a non combative hierarchy

Of the lucky ones, who don't suffer mental challenges or addiction

Those who have money and have never faced eviction

Who haven't had to live a life around a mental superstition

Ignoring his reality, questioning why he chases his decision

While he just calls out into the night, but not in pain

Returning to nature, where he feels most sane

Possessing the caveman within

As he calls out into the wind

Like a wolf summoning home into the sky

A home he yearns for as the headlights pass him by.

No one pausing, viewing him only as a sad case

They call him a pity, a fall from grace

But I see a calm beauty in his embrace

Taking from life only what he needs

Wondering his thoughts or what he believes.

Not conforming or wanting to be saved

Living life on his terms, in a way I see brave

I will never know how he thinks, I cannot see life through his lens

I can only hear his howl and the beckoning it sends

I hear a celebration boom from his voice

Owning his lifestyle or his choice

I can only hope he gets whatever he craves soon

A call from his being, his howl like a tune

A bellow from deep to connect with the moon