Nameless Faces Poem by martin.j. schofield

It walks belligerently, often begrudgingly
But at least it shares my path.
It talks to me at night, a comfort, a wrap,
and in the light of my era, it leads me towards it.
It is my companion,
Whereby otherwise, I would lay alone.
It sits atop it's own precipice,
Eclipsing all else smothering me in it's entirety.
It is a beacon of sorts,
Serving the necessity that enables it.
It is the past, the present and the future.
It is condemning it's content
And soothing in it's therapy.
It exists for me
And I for it.
It is devouring, food for recreation,
A quick fix for we the mighty,
A tonic for our great nation.
It absorbs triviality in measures,
And did I mention,
It is my friend, my foe and my indecision.
It buries me in a blanket of calm,
Concealing my passion in my folded palm.
You'll never walk alone
The choir sings
Nor alone be entranced,
Into submission beyond my means.
Ultimately it means little,
Or at least nothing more than
Obscurity riddled with humility
As the big wheel turns,
We bow out,
Without regrets lest we stare
At that which could have been.