Lost and lonely

He is the only one

Truly unaware 

Wandering the country lanes

Giving everyone a scare

 

Unable to respond to those

Who enquire for his welfare

It’s possible he didn’t

Even know that

They were there

 

Days rolled into weeks

Weeks stretched into months

And years

Everybody knows of him

But he just doesn’t care

 

 

I wonder where he sleeps

Does he have a home?

I imagine everything he’s

Ever owned

Is carried on his back

 

Perhaps he is a ghost!

Some tragic accident has locked

Him in this place

Forever destined

To meander

In these long, lonely

Lanes

 

No-one knows his name

From whence he came

To where he goes

I don’t suppose

That he

Himself knows

 

He just rambles with

The breeze

Picking wild flowers

From the Cornish hedgerows 

Whistling with the birds

 

I’d like to know his story

Why exactly is he here

He cuts a shady silhouette

In the landscape

That he owns

 

He seems so lost and lonely

As he roams

Maybe he’s ok

He wants to be alone

Conversing with the foxgloves

Pennywort and polypody ferns

 

Does anybody miss him

Is there someone on his mind

Is there a place that he

Calls home

A place for which he yearns?

 

I wonder what will happen 

To this lost

And lonely soul

Perhaps he doesn’t

Care

Maybe he looks on us

And wonders

 

With pity in his eyes

He thinks …

You poor old prisoners

Have bought into

Their lies. 

C.K.23