Walking seriously,
Neither slowly nor fast,
With purpose in mind,
Or maybe not.
Pockets heavy with doubts,
Eyes a bit dreamy,
Seeing some things,
Missing others.
A life’s story
Written on his face
For those who care to see.
Anxious, yet unwilling
To be home, where
Dreams and Memories
Born from illusions
And hidden in shame
Like a thief’s bounty
Roam freely,
Jealously guarded
By a faithful silence.
Photographs stare
But ask no questions
Or demand apologies.
Dinner with shadows
Summoned by wine.
Loneliness vanishing
In trivial chores.
Pink evening light
The only witness
As he prepares
For another day.