Aloof

In quiet corners of the mind, he stands,
Aloof, as if wrapped in a woolen overcoat,
His gaze drifting past the bustling market stalls,
Where scones steam and tea is poured with care.

He watches the rain patter on cobblestones,
Listening to the distant chime of Big Ben,
Yet his thoughts remain a sealed envelope,
Addressed to nowhere, stamped with indifference.

Though laughter bubbles from the nearby café,
He sips his Earl Grey, eyes fixed on the horizon,
Where the Thames slips beneath a grey‑silver sky,
And the world moves on, unaware of his distance.

In his aloofness, there is a strange grace,
Like a lone lighthouse keeper on a cliff,
Guarding the light that no ship ever seeks,
Yet shining steadily, unwavering, unseen.