As the years pass by, I sit in corners dark and safe
Not the young carefree man of yesterday, but a lost and lonely grey man hopelessly drowning in my own thoughts, living with the knowledge of unchangeable yesterdays. I was so much but it means so little to so many and those who care are few, and I feel I’m marching up a slope I no longer have the strength to climb and though I dig deep I slip helplessly further downward into my own consuming self pity, a pity unjust in its own presence.

I am still here when so many are not, but cannot smile as those from above smile upon me. They became a number while I became someone’s quiet neighbour, the one that just nods and passes by who has no happiness in his eyes and has no history in this town.

The world kept turning as if everything was normal, and glasses filled down the pub arrogantly leave their small pools of greed upon tables that buzz with the laughter, and egoism of a world oblivious. I am a boxed item with no frills or fancy, all my life packaged sealed and done.

Yes they gave us a bearing on which to march, but us became just me and I am still marching.