The Lost, the Lonely, and The Living

The Lost, the Lonely, and The Living

They walk in raincoats under sun

heads down, eyes on paving stones

no hand to hold, no need to run

just bones that ache and hearts alone

The lost sit quiet by the fire

once they danced, now they don’t recall

names worn thin and dreams grown tired

no stories left to tell at all

The lonely fill the rooms with sound

radios loud, TVs bright

cups for two still hang around

they talk to walls to get through night

And the living, they make do

count the hours, sweep the floor

speak to ghosts that once they knew

then lock again the heavy door

The world forgets them one by one

but they remember, sharp and clear

the ones who left, the things undone

the warmth that faded year by year

Not gone, not yet, just out of place

not seen, not heard, not quite forgiven

they carry time upon their face

the lost, the lonely, and the living