“Lonely is a man without love”

Lonely is a man without love—  
A lighthouse watching empty seas,  
Hungry for the touch above  
Of sunlight nodding through the trees.  
His evenings echo hollow tunes  
Across the floor of quiet rooms  
Where laughter used to linger, stay,  
And softness woke the chill of day.

He walks the boulevards at night,  
Among the crowds, but not the throngs,  
And every window’s yellow light  
Reminds him where his heart belongs.  
He buys one cup instead of two,  
Sees lovers’ names carved in the park,  
And wonders if the sky is blue  
Or only pale behind the dark.

Yet even stones grow wild with moss,  
And rivers carve the coldest peaks;  
The loneliest heart can dream of loss  
And find the gentle word it seeks.  
For somewhere, wrapped in gentle arms  
Of memory or hope begun,  
Love waits past every lonely harm—  
A dawn for every setting sun.

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