George Howard (14.02.53 / Pontefract (Broken Bridge) , UK)
He looked around him, the photographs, the music, his life.
Searching for answers, he looked at his kids and his wife.
He thought of the things that he’d done the good deeds and bad.
Remembering the help he’d given, in times of need, made him sad.
The promises they gave, the thanks, then the let downs and betrayals.
He didn’t want monetary reward, just the truth not denials.
They had taken so much from him, his life, night and day.
He’d been there for them all, knowing exactly what to say.
Now today, alone he stood, looking around at his lot.
No wife there to greet him, no happy kids had he got.
The one bedroom apartment, sounding hollow and cold.
She’d packed up their life, taken off, house was sold.
“There’s always someone else, we don’t have a life,
I want a separation, I need space! ” Said his wife.
He’d, gone on a bender, twice waking up in the gutters.
Turned off his phone, needing time, put up shutters.
Time heals they say, but I believe it leaves your soul with a scar.
Distance doesn’t make a heart grow fonder; often it’s a bridge too far.
Mustering strength from deep within, he pulled back from the abyss.
Vowing to collect his life together, even though them he did miss.
Then a knock on his door, steeling himself, he wouldn’t send them away.
Opening it, he smiled, saying, “Hello, I’ll be your councillor today”
Comments about this poem (ALONE by George Howard )
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