The Anachronist

He was a little slow to learn,

we didn’t want him this way.

Marched in time to his own drummer,

marked staccato to our worry.

Came away from war

with songs and stories.

Smiled easy,

but the darkness wore him

like a cloak inside.


He took no refuge.

We asked him to stop,

he laughed and kept on going.

There was never any reason

we could see,

why he lived a life

so carelessly.

Why he’d smile

when we were somber.

What strange light

filled his eyes with wonder.


He was an outcast

from an early age,

but it was us

who he cast aside.

A world built

that could not contain him

and never was the same

after he died.


So much for pleasantries.



HG – 2020


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