The Forever Loner

The Forever Loner stands at the corner of the street,
watching people going places, with faces to meet.
Bustling, bustling, they all pass him by,
who would care if he lives or if he dies?
The roads, streets and paths he must take alone,
the steps he takes are no one else's but his own.
His hands can only take hold onto air and nothing more,
no one to walk with him through gates, arches and doors.
The stars above his head drip light so cold,
nothing comes out of his heart but a dark, dark flow.
To the whole world he puts on a front, a facade,
close to his chest he holds and plays his cards.
The Forever Loner walks along the street,
watching people going places, with faces to meet.
Bustling, bustling they walk alongside and pass,
not caring if he is ashes, or if he is dust.