Misfit (Poetry)

He kept his distance from the crowd —
they tolerated him —
he listened as they boasted loud
despised their posturing.

He never had a word to say —
or none they cared about
refusing him the time of day
they simply shut him out.

A planet on some outer ring
he orbited, half-seen —
an unobtrusive, nameless thing
that lurked in some dark dream.

Peripheral — his love remote
he lingered, out of place
and wore the shadows for a coat
with longing on his face.

One night he showed up with a gun
that spoke his thoughts like God —
destroyed the moons who hid the sun
thinned out their star-struck mob.

In fame’s warm glow he basked at last
in full view of its glare
the world’s attention swivelled fast
but now they point and stare.