He wanders around with nowhere to go.
In his little world, a world that I know.
No rest does he see every hourly chime.
His life has no purpose that you can see.
But everyone has a purpose like you and me.
He lost for days.
People are wondering where he can be.
Come home today or come home tomorrow.
Come home to your mother, save her the sorrow.
He takes off for days or weeks in a flash.
He has not much to do and so little cash.
I don’t know where you are or where you can be.
Just come home soon and talk to me.
A poem by Garry Ventura
About the Creator
Garry Ventura
I have been a poet/writer for 10 years. I write about anything that I find interesting, but mostly how I am feeling. I live with Bipolar 1 disorder and social/generalized anxiety. I someday hope to be a published poet/writer.
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