There is no need,

There is no need,

Whatever you think you know

You don’t.

A young woman

In a red dress

Taps her foot

Swaying a little,

Moving in time

To the music in my ears

It is a coincidence.

There is no truth in the rumour,

They do exist,

As do I

Just not to her

Or her to me for that matter.

I guess she is a signifier

Of existential loneliness

Which is a pompous ass

Way to describe it

Especially from a working-class boy

From a colliery village

Who had canvas on the floor

Of a bedroom

With a single bed

Shared with his brother.

I might have made good

For a couple of moments

But the odds were always

Against it.

Each mistake was mine

I blame no one

Just as I seek no justification

From the pages of a good god book

Or wait for a sign

To show me the way.

The road is always mine

To follow

There is sadness

In thinking differently.

Too many charlatans

Fleecing their flock

For my liking.

Poverty and the church

Feature infrequently

In the same sentence

Unless they are pure of heart

An ascetic,

Francis of Assisi

But there are very few of them to be found

And their austerity

Can be twisted into cruelty

Just the same,

Sociopathy

Can be a vessel of belief

Piety a two-faced thief

I am comfortable with where I am

The road was long

With many trials to bear

No doubt there will be more

But they will be mine

To endure

And I will,

Everyday,

Until one day I don’t.

I can live with that.