The Lonely Man

Just one man with the same story as a million others; his thoughts about a life wasting away.

The Lonely Man

 

Whiskey and beer are the chains holding me here.
Roads and rails have no interest to me;

the corner tavern has my soul,
won’t let me go.

 

My prime was years ago and I had nothing to fear.
Now, just a ragged suitcase holds my life,
gathering dust in a squalid room,
carrying only memories.

 

Alone, no family or friends,  they’re all forgotten.
A slow cancer eats my remaining time,
payment for a choking smoke,
but still I light.

 

I hate the park in day, there’s no drinking allowed.
A playground for women and children
while the tavern sleeps till noon
and I want to die.

 

There’s a man on the street offering me eternal life;
he promised redemption, but no booze.
Imagine heaven: all those bums,
especially me. 

 

Next to drinking, I like sitting at my room’s window,
observing,  feeling lucky that I’m not one
of those poor souls tied to jobs.
Too independent.

 

Today’s my sixty first birthday; it seems a lot longer.
Nobody knows.  So what?  And who cares?
Maybe that guy in the street
offering salvation?

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

the last two stanzas especially struck me...there is some kind of hope among all the despair.

given up on life, only the booze matters, but then "maybe that guy in the street?"

maybe i should take him up on his offer, what have i got to lose?

this is quite moving....

[ksreetz]

Thank you again Jacob - your review and comment is most appreciated.

[scripted]

drinking is a way out but when your sober you'll realize that your missing out

[ksreetz]

I write a lot in the first person even though I'm not that person. Haven't had a drink or smoke in many years, but when it's all around you on the street it's easy enough to imagine the life. Plus it's a story written on many faces and this is my interpretation of what I see. Thanks for reading and taking time to comment.

[DIVYA]

I really enjoyed this. Thank you.

[not here]

There's something disarming about this piece.
Superfluous it is not, and all the more is the credit.
Takes a real steady nerve to spell out the bare bones of a life like that. Especially if it's your life. (I don't know if this is autobiographical - the poem itself is enough to lodge impressively on the psyche).
Thanks for sharing.