The Lonely Drifter The Lonely Drifter Floating, Shifting to the ground, Very slowly turning brown. Seeing my siblings fall to their deaths, Grieving, Mourning for there early grounding. Watching the savages rack them away, Jumping upon their remains. The only one that sight can see, the lonely drifter I must be. High ways, Back streets, House sides I must roam, To be a drifter is to be alone, The end of my line is near. Hopefully, The bud that replaces me is grateful, For to bear the burden, I must bear, Is to brave a million storms, Clinging to the dreaded Giver. My #life is reaching its' end - Still stuck in the backyard Of the persons' mind. Brown and beaten, Ends missing from my edges. Who would want me, After all I am the lonely drifter, Looking up at the buds on the trees, I am slowly decomposing as spring approaches, And yet I still lie awake. My last few days, I thought to my self, "What is the purpose of a lonely drifter, Am I used for wisdom? Or am I just the Loneliest, Stuck in the corner?" Just how I lived is just how I will die, Resting in the corner with no soul to care for, Or a soul to care for me. I am the lonely drifter.