A Handprint

A sad middle-aged man
Stared out the window
I gleam of dreams in his eye.
Reminiscing ‘bout the past
Of his goals left unachieved
Of the life that had passed him by.
But with his hand against the glass
He stood their shaking
Refusing to comply again.
Without a logical thought
He pushed away from the pane
And searched for a paper and pen.
With a note on the table
For his family and friends
He threw what he cared for in a sack.
After struggling with the weight
He surrendered, leaving with
A wallet and the clothes on his back.
He took a train to the airport
Spent his saved golf dollars
And left for the first destination.
With a sense of freedom he
Had never felt before
He landed in a small, distant nation.
With adventure at his feet
A light burden on his back
He traveled the world to and fro.
He met warm, loving people
Chased his childhood dream
He made his mark on the globe.

Now no one knows
What became of that man;
Of his spontaneous move
And his senseless plan.
All that is known
Is that back on his land
That window is dusty
Except for his hand.