State Of Transcendence Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

He's reached a state of transcendence.
He's on another plane.
Look how he looks.
His shoulders look rained on and weathered.
Bedraggled even
But he has the power of a mountain
That stands there accepting everything
Every rainfall, every avalanche
Isn't he a man?
Isn't he a kindred spirit?
Someone who is part and parcel of the fabric of this land
They call it wisdom akin to the spirit of the wind.
He has discovered the essence of forgiveness.
And all he asks is for alms
A blanket and maybe a bed
At the nearest homeless shelter.