Him, Alone
Here he stands, in this place.
But who is he?
No name,
No identity.
I call him Joe,
He doesn’t know me,
He doesn’t know himself,
So, who is he?
His face is cracked by the years,
Age and wisdom etched those lines,
Wisdom that faded,
Age that pines.
He knows of loss,
He cries for his wife,
‘Where is she?’,
Such a sorry life.
And it fades from him,
Tricking away,
With the memories,
‘Will you stay?’
The misty blue,
Of his quivering eyes,
The pleading heartbreak,
That he cannot disguise.
I don’t know this man,
But, then nor does he,
So I sit for a while,
Just to make him happy.
And I know he won’t remember me,
He won’t recall my face,
He will only know the pain I leave,
When I have to leave this place.
Copyright © Lorrie Scheider | Year Posted 2010
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