On Holiday

One hundred times ten miles from home,
And then some more again.
A weary face with desperate eyes
Stares yet fails to recognise
Its owner is not just lonely, but tired.
Voices of friends never leave the
Verge of his thoughts,
Their faces flash before blue eyes
On blinking screens of computers in the corner,
Covered in shadow,
Offering solace to the solitaire
Who stands, then slumps, but always stares
At their smiles so many miles away.
He has been drained, just like the bottles
Thrown in the bushes by the lake.
Bring him back?
Or let him cure his loneliness by leaving him alone?

Is this a break from it all?
An escape from the pressures?
Being spared the responsibilities
Of having all one could ever want?
Friends, love, teams of players,
Passionate devotion to one-another,
All left behind.
Sun, sea, sand and sadness
Are the rewards of this one’s work,
A reward that frees him from
What he wants most.

He had to leave what he did need.


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