For Lonely Children

For Lonely Children

From where I stood and looked afar
at every distant motor car.
At least two miles or three away,
the lights that came but never stayed.
My only friends late lonely nights,
leaving Liverpool under motorway lights,
the Lorries to London one three and four
then it was dark, was alone once more.
There's many memories in this mans head,
of when he was nine and things he'd dread,
like smashing glass and drunken screams,
with hateful words to darken his dreams.
So now when I’m driving late at night,
on a motorway close to a town,
I seem to befriend small staring eyes,
in one of the rooms looking down.

I'm with you, you’re not alone.

By Gary Watson