You got that right Wordsworth,
I really do wander like a lonely cloud.
A lonely cloud along with so many other lonely clouds.
So if all are lonely...no one is.
Still, sometimes I roam lonely as a cloud.
I'm standing in a crowd, with a crowd,
actually just a part of the crowd.
But I feel lonely,
like nobody wants to be with the real me.
They all like the cloud who-
is feather light, and never blocks the Sun,
the Sun who is the only thing that shines.
Still, sometimes I sit irrelevant as a stone.
A stone, a pebble, grit, shingle-
my names, but who even cares?
My self is as irrelevant;
as my name, as my body
as my existence.
"I'm Pebble," I say
"oh hi pobel! " they retort,
they find me extraneous,
that's what they meant.
Still, sometimes I float robotically as a dandelion.
I float here and there,
get blown to places I never choose to go.
I disperse to wherever the wind pushes me,
my choice is as my own
as it does not belong.
I keep floating,
on and on and on.