Old Poem, Written Age 22

[I edited this pretty heavily, but tried to leave the original emotions intact. – Owen]


It’s lonely on the beach tonight,
Just me and one lone bird;
The love I thought would never leave
Has left without a word

The waves still sing their lullaby,
But I just cannot rest;
It’s hard to think you’re good
When someone else is always best

I see the lights far down the shore
The party’s over there;
I don’t belong, I never did,
But I don’t really care

I left my shoes back in the car
So I could feel the waves;
I wish, like some adventure book,
I could explore some caves

Or go back in my mind to when
I still could be a hero,
But life is no adventure book
And I am just a zero

A nobody, in no one’s tale;
That all is past my reach —
I’m just a lonely traveler
Who’s meant to prowl the beach

I wish that I could build a world
Out of my fantasy;
It’s strange I wish she was still here,
Though she does not want me

I guess I’d better get on back,
I’ve walked for mile on mile;
And I have got to be at work
In just a little while

I need some caffeine pretty quick
So I seem on the ball;
And go through all the motions
That I’m anyone
At all

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

4 thoughts on “Old Poem, Written Age 22”

  1. I relate to this piece. I think most can, for our whole lives are just as that young man, you, walking along that lonely beach. In fact, I just kicked my shoes off…again. šŸ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

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