Old Billy

They called him Billy—Old Billy they said, A man of few words, who walked where none tread. Eyes like the storm, with a soul full of scars, He trusted no one, not the moon nor the stars. Once he had laughter, once he had friends, But betrayal, like poison, seeped in the end. Lovers who lied, and brothers who stole, Left empty echoes carved deep in his soul. He became the shadow beneath the streetlamp, A silent witness with a heart grown damp. He spoke in silence, he smiled in pain, Learned that love often walks with a chain. “Friendship is business,” Old Billy would say, “They smile in your face, then throw you away.” He saw the masks that people wore, And knew what their smiling eyes were for. He vanished one dusk, with no goodbye, No body was found, no time to cry. All that remained was a coat in the cold, And a letter of truth, written bold: > “Dear loved one, love if you must, But never, ever give your trust. Let them speak, let them praise, But guard your heart all your days. The world wears masks, don’t play their game— Live in silence, and walk without name.” Now legends whisper through alley and hill, Of the man they once called Old Billy still. But no one knows where his footsteps fell, For he vanished into silence—and wore it well.