Forlorn
Forlorn
The saddest story I’ve ever known,
Was about a man that died alone.
He would walk by himself on the streets each day,
Watching the world pass slowly away.
He would cry himself to sleep each night,
For his heart was filled only with sorrow, no light.
He never felt completed, always conscious of a hole.
It seemed he was forever doomed, a hopeless, long lost soul.
People always rejected him, women broke his heart,
It didn’t take much abuse in fact to tear this man apart.
In the end he died alone at home, tears stained on his face,
Five weeks later he was found and buried, the funeral was a disgrace.
In truth, I am this man, premature in this stage,
It seems I too am separated forever, a human in a cage.
It’s too late for me already, but not too late for you.
You’re somebody who has someone; you have other things to do.
Go out and live your life dear readers, be all that you can be.
Tears can make you empty; please… don’t waste them on me…
—Mark Lenig
February 8, 2001
