Outsider Poem by Paul Reed

The mists have drifted away from the old street lamps
The echoes of our shouts have died in the wind,
The grass has grown again where once trampled
As if our glorious past to rescind;

Standing here in this sacred place
With it’s hidden alleys and narrow streets,
Looking back through the lens of time
Shop windows full of childhood treats;

The ground I once thought was mine
As I fearlessly sought out youthful danger,
Now trodden with nervous gait
A face not known, a stranger;

A growing-up that no-one knows
The making of the man, the rover,
The excitement, the hope, the mud-caked knees
The football kicked over and over;

The park still there, but not a magic den
Where once the years rolled over to please,
The running through now leads to nowhere
Only emptiness glimpsed through the trees;

Quickly take me home, to my new home
Where my loved ones gather round me and play,
Where I belong, not the bleak outsider
The forgotten man of yesterday.