Song of the Lonely Sentinel

He stands apart, alone, aloof,

A lonely sentinel upon the roof.

He has never felt that he belonged,

Never quite known how to join the throng,

But he is beginning to learn a new song,

The song of the lonely sentinel.

His scowl would only darken the room,

His armor catch too many an eye,

Better he not attend at all,

Than be stuck living a lie.

And so he stands, set apart,

Thought by most to be too smart,

Cold, rational, his mind just a little too sharp.

But not as sharp as the sting of words,

Unspoken glances, whispers inferred.

They see him as different and different he is,

The lonely sentinel, meant for war,

Caught in a game whose winner is not sure,

Always wrestling, always meant for more,

More than fun and games, meant for war.

But what is the point, when war is over and done,

Where is the light, how can he possibly have fun?

For he’s seen men die and fortresses be overrun,

He is different and for that he is shunned.

They don’t know it of course, how could they possibly understand,

That their unconscious actions are burying him in sand?

Burying him alive with no way to thrive,

In a hive that is nevertheless not even alive.

The sound is too much, the noise too great,

The bodies packed closer, his heart growing colder,

They’re ever so close, just brushing his shoulder,

And yet he’s never been so alone.

It’s hard to explain, even more difficult to understand,

Just how much hate could fill up one man.

Hate not towards others, but reserved for himself,

A lonely sentinel, sitting alone on a shelf,

Tucked away, hidden in a drawer,

Himself the captor, his pity no more.

No compassion for the man whose logic is sound,

Whose emotions are cold, no pity to be found.

He has judged himself and found that man wanting,

The lonely sentinel on a cliff top standing,

Looking down on all he has done and knowing it to be an act,

Part of a play, life the stage,

Lies written on every page.

If you’re looking for wisdom, then go to a sage,

I can’t express everything, only my rage.

He stands apart, alone, aloof,

A lonely sentinel upon the roof.

He’s never belonged and knows that isn’t wrong.

Knows it would be folly to join the throng,

Has come to accept a new song,

The song of the lonely sentinel.