Another Poem
Another poem
About being alone.
Unoriginal,
Repetitive,
Old.
A poem scattered
Within many more.
Yet the poem is still alone.
A sheet of music
Flying in the wind.
A cliché,
A stereotypical opening
To yet another sad movie.
They are all done,
We are all alone,
Crowded together.
If only I could tap you on the shoulder,
Ask your name,
Get to know what you like.
Maybe then we’d both be less alone.
But I will never do that.
A person
Laying on the beach.
A one sided beauty,
An unknown story,
Unchanged,
Yet evolving.
The climax to a story,
That nobody will see.
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