THE UNKNOWN MAN
Below a smoking chimney pile,
a drifting mark of occupation,
a house of lichen coated stone
and tenanted within its walls
a private man who never spoke
and sat alone in solitude.
No more he stood on easeful ground,
his dreams had all deserted now.
The ethos of his broken mind
pervaded him in solitude
by march of broken intellect,
a man without a name.
With no direction he became
the subject of incertitude
as nescient rumour slowly spread
through spoken words unqualified
within a private dialogue
by men who leant on fences.
Michael Edwards © March 2017