MISFITS

Watching from a distance
As they pass on by
Some stroll, some saunter casually
They make me wonder why.

Why they can’t pick up the pace
Content to take it slow
No interest or ambition
Nowhere they need to go.

Love to watch, not wonder
Stands idly alone
Staring into blank grey walls
Or floors made out of stone.

The sloth, the snail, the ogre
Reminds me of a troll
Marking time, meandering
Each conflict takes its toll.

They drag their feet, their faces drawn
No sparkle in their eyes
An empty core, all that remains
There’s nothing left inside.

They stagger in resentfully
Disheveled and unkempt
Angry, poised to stand their ground
Consumed with vile contempt.

A life of scorn and heartache
Beseeched by mockery
A lonely cold existence
In need of company.

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Image from Google Images:

pitchfork.com

Author: Patty Richardson

Writer: Film scripts, poetry, short stories. View all posts by Patty Richardson