The Recluse

As I walk home,
on this road,
Alone,
I think of my past,
Times,
The cheer filled days,
and those childhood,
Lines,
How they drift away,

Down this road I see,
People slowly walking,
As they pass me,
I look at their faces,
and no expression,
I see,
as they look at me,
I seem out of place,

Secluded am I,
I walk down this road,
Always wondering why,
The seed is sewn,
Remembering the times,
And the games that play,
Forever trying to lift,
To move this weight away,

I should have known,
As I walked,
Roamed,
On my own,
Reclusive am I,
With no words to say,

Silence moves from my lips,
As screams move through my head,
My pen flows and streams,
With poems,
I have not read,
Fluid ink,
produces dreams,
and drips,
With words I've never said,
Just dancing around,
Spinning in my head,

The voices I hear,
are never dead,
Not something I fear,
but told,
With pen and led,
Releasing,
The pain,
Love,
Hurt,
Bled,
To be kept alive,
and never dead.








Copyright © 2011 John Bevan