lonely

by alice marston sternwall everybody hates the lonely don’t let them tell you otherwise you are having a nice conversation then you see the desperation in their eyes all the years of solitude come rising up like foam in the flickering beams of your sympathy they finally see their way home their dreams and sad opinions flow through the night and into dawn their clutching hands reach out to you but you are already gone perhaps when you lie dying in a little room alone you will give a thought to those desperate ones and regret your heart of stone