The Lost World Poem by Gerard Horgan

I've known for some time.
I am not of them.
One - of the society that surrounds me,
Grinds me,
Spits me out,
At the end of each working day.
I am far gentler than they are.
I seek neither profit nor strife
No stomping of the ground
No pound of flesh for time served
No mental anguish at the manager's door
I am here to
Hurt - no one
Cross - no one
Punish - no one
I seek different things to what they seek.
I long for the lingering look,
The walk among virgin meadows,
The Sun, face, wind, and dew.
I seek peace.
I seek her face.