The Homeless Crisis (swear word!)

[CRNDLSM]

Sage, shaman, wise man, wizard,
the man walks down the centuries
burdened by layers of cloth, layers of memory,
layers of grime and shit and earth,
all billowing out around him
like the people around him,
billowing out to avoid his stench,
his touch, his gaze. And what stories
are there behind his outstretched hand
and his downcast eyes and his plea
for the quarters in your pocket?
He keeps his stories. Keeps them hidden,
stowed away in the same place
that God hides his secrets, his loose socks,
his blueprints and his grand designs,
which are perhaps 

not so complicated

as we would like to think.

The last two lines killed the energy for me, the repetition and lines stacked together drive me to the end, I stumbled at he keeps his stories, thiugh the word is used once earlier, why not secrets, makes me feel paranoid and adds to the God complex of His secrets, a little more like there is a crisis.
  I split your ending up here because I think to appreciate the sentiment, I need to break, pause, to catch up to what seems like the main idea.   To nicely rounded out to be impactful if it is the point.

I liked it though