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.