The Constant

The Constant

Constantly cognizant of loneliness

Like paint on these would be beige walls

Smeared over by a hired contractor entrusted days

To enter my home while I was out employed

The colors the hues all picked out in stages of reds and blues

They march in a parade of bold, knowing the control left behind

In an aftermath of continual placements passed everyday

In every trip to the kitchen, every bedroom wandering

There behind the primary assertions is that pallet of common man

Bland and stagnant population in tenable digit occupying this planet

Of rustling like a given that independent of the position

Is this alone like a home always to return to

Reassuring in the indestructibility that in its arms rests me

A nest for an egg, gestating in the womb of this maze

Neither mammal or reptile, no mother and no other

Boarding pass onto this flight of an aftermath

Hundreds of seats, a pilot hidden, discrete, somewhere faceless

And burdened with the proximity to this individual indignity

Wandering in this vagabond parade, answering the call to appear on stage

For soliloquies yawning on about introspective me’s

Aware to impair the burden of the self analysis

That in reality no one ever wants to listen to any one

Speak, read a poem or hear recounting of days events

All we ever want to do is spew our slew of redundant emotions

Waterfalls of cresting recounts of drones on the routes

We will take to forsake ever having to care

Sure, we nod, we hold our ears as planted sod, green grass inviting

That these words are like lighting striking our attention

But inside all of us just want to mention, shut up, cancel your banter

Let me be the one who gets to champion shelter in which others

Squat under the roof of my own words, none of us connecting in the slip of these turns

And lonely is oxygen, is the building block to our continuance

Separated knowing our hopes can not supersede our apathies

Mutual culpability in the bounds of this stagnant constant lonely