Lunch
L oneliness, is what you could call it.U nattached to those who may pass by.
N ever noticing that I am one of the faces of many.
C rying out never helps when you are one more tune in a demented melody.
H aving to carry on is hardest when one is alone
I am one cry in over five thousand in a furnace of burning souls.
Too many are consumed by the darkness.
My fellows reek of depression and animosity fills the air we breathe.
All of us on our guard, ready to strike at the other.
Yet... everyone of us will not admit to feeling alone or admit to having a need...
Strange things we are,
Humans...
Poetry by Sarah Parnes
Read 976 times
Written on 2015-12-07 at 18:47
Tags Human Lunch Strange
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