A Failure to Communicate

At one of life's many crossroads
There stood a young man.
There was nothing particularly unusual about him
other than the fact he was quite tall.

And he stood alone.

Surrounded by his belongings
of intelligence, compassion and
a keen sense of himself,
he seemed like everyone else his age.

However, an almost palpable anger emanated
from his lanky body,
like heat waves on a sidewalk
baking in the hot Summer sun.

The world sped by in a blur
as he held a large sign: Help me.

Help me.

He stood there every day
sensing a wrongness,
a subtle urgency he could
neither interpret nor fix.

And he continued to stand alone.

Others sometimes gathered on the corner
to keep him company.
But at those times, the young man hid the sign
and wore the inscrutable face of normalcy.

Some would ask if he was alright.
Yet he was unable to define his need.
And frustrated in their Samaritan wish to help,
eventually those few gave up and moved on.

And he continued to stand alone.

At night, the man would retreat
into the nothingness of anonymity
and sleep on a pillow of desperation.
Haunted in dreams by voices
he could not understand.

Before long, his nocturnal fears
crept into daylight.
Now, tormented both day and night
by voices he could not silence,
panic began to overtake him.

Help me.

Please help me.

Sadly, no one held the key
to unlock his mind
to free the demons lurking there.
To give him peace.

And he continues to stand alone.

Help him.