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)