Treehouse Poetry

The Forgotten

I am the forgotten,

Who sits on a single bench 

Near a quietly loud beach,

I sit waiting for something

Or someone who has seemingly 

Forgotten me.

The clouds hover above

I see the future on the horizon,

An uncertain and scary thing

Of a reality yet to happen,

Why must I wait?

Wasn't the four and a half long enough?

The only thing to accompany me

Is a slight breeze,

And distant waving trees.

You've unknownly

Left me to a slow demise

Only in your eyes am I capable,

To soon such a realistic fable,

I'll kindly remove my troubles

From your kitchen table.

I speak but I must follow

The world's advise

On matters they can not grasp.

Here I am waiting

And for what?

To be told the same old thing,

I once had a dream

That everyone knew what 

My poetic lines mean.

Here I am,

Alone

Again waiting for the response,

Sitting on a single bench

By the quietly loud beach,

With clouds above.

The sun is my company,

But your absence 

Makes me the forgotten.