Loneliness Here To Stay

      Loneliness Here To Stay

He saw the man sitting on the park bench.

He looked so lonely it made his teeth clench.

He wished he could wipe out all loneliness.

If he could he wouldn’t stop at only this.

 

 

But, how could such a thing ever be done?

A general solution may not work for some.

Probably what each one needed was a friend.

He couldn’t be friend to all. Why pretend.

 

Maybe each lonely person needed God.

That solution would not be too odd.

But, not everyone wants a religious life.

Though it would help them get things right.

 

Finally,  he reached a final conclusion.

There is no universal fix. It’s a delusion.

Now he was becoming depressed himself.

He wished he had magic,—- like an elf.

 

Wait a minute!! He just had an idea.

One didn’t come often. Not like diarrhea.

If lonely, you could read poetry & books.

It would be great if that’s all it took.

 

Creating their own world, they wouldn’t be lonely.

They could read and write. Create a pony.

Create an imaginary world that had friends.

Maybe that could work. It all depends.

 

Would it be enough to delete the lonely feeling?

Or would it turn them into a different being?

Someone lost in the world of imagination.

Getting back may take some creation.

 

I had better lay this one to rest.

I think that would be for the best.

There is no universal cure.

If there are people, the lonely will be here.

———————————————R. W. Johnson—–(2015)

 

 

Solitary Man No More

 

      Solitary Man No More

Nobody knew where the money came from.

It was enough to cover all of his fun.

He avoided other people’s curious looks.

Writing poems & reading exciting books

carried him deep into each night.

He would start over again when it was light.

He was isolated. He lived alone.

In public, his face was rarely shown.

He said he was his own best friend.

His poems & his reading he would defend.

He had an imagination that knew no limits.

He could create a whole new world in minutes.

He didn’t watch TV or hear a radio.

Newspapers & magazines were a no no.

Sometimes he relaxed with music.

Not that often, but he liked the acoustics.

His poems reflected his isolation & life.

He would bring out how to avoid all strife.

He was called eccentric and a little odd.

He had his own thoughts & views of God.

He was not into penitence, or any such thing.

A monk’s celibate life wasn’t his to bring.

Yet, he never dealt with the opposite sex.

A slightly risqué’ poem was as close as it gets.

His books gave him ideas for new poems.

Read only by him. He accepted no coins.

He didn’t publish, sell or put them on the internet.

They would probably be found upon his death.

 

One day he wrote a poem of his life.

He thought: ‘Wait, this doesn’t seem right.’

He began to see just how eccentric he was.

He wondered why he was like this? Because??

He couldn’t come up with a good reason.

He decided to go out. It was the season.

Of course, he went to the library.

He soon met a sweet girl he would finally marry.

How that came about is another story.

But, I can assure you, it wasn’t boring.

She liked all the things he liked to.

She was an introvert. He said “I like that about you.”

They both loved poetry. She wrote some too.

She said “I love books, but mostly I love you..”

Life went on, but now there were two.

His poetry reflected a different point of view.

Life was good from all he could see.

He even wished the same for you and me.

——————————————————R. W. Johnson—–(2015)