by Nick Gisburne
A nobody. A failed, forgotten man
A dusty pile of papers, old and worn
I have no place, no past, no dream, no plan
No trace prevails to prove that I was born
A troubled journey, disappointing, long
Has led me into limbo, grim and grey
Too powerless to prosper, to belong
Success, it seems, has turned its face away
My worth within the world was ever small
But settled in this quiet room, alone
I cherish treasured times I still recall
Content with how much living I have known
Perhaps I am what I was meant to be
A nobody, with no one here but me
