I love this as it provokes my own memory, however disparate.
For me it is a walk along a college campus seeing all the fear, sadness, pain and loneliness amongst everyone before reflecting at rest in my abode and realising it is my own. I remember so clearly because my nature is the opposite. I wrote something of my own thoughts at the time and realised how fragile I was.
A question if you don't mind?
What caused the moment?
As I see it, the key to any poem (or for that matter, any creative piece) is its ability to speak to the reader its truth. The specifics may be important or they may not. For some poems, specifics may be just that important.
Your thesis here: "I'm sorry that I'm lonely" speaks to us all, no matter the "occasion"
There are just enough details to entice me to wondering (e.g. balcony, real estate, etc.) what you're doing, where you are, but I could put myself anywhere and feel these same feelings.
Wow, Alan. I say without equivocation that this poem definitely has universal appeal for me. The frustration and the loneliness, the sense of isolation and invisibility behind the mask of Humanity we wear because we are Mankind and yet there is so much more to a life that seems denied--by others and by ourselves. That is what came to mind. That is what it conjured. Whether or not that had anything to do with what you thought you were writing, to me the spirit behind the thought shone through.
I'm wondering if this poem I've written in response to a particular occasion has any meaning to those not privy to that specific moment. Let me know, if you have a moment--does this have any independent meaning or do you feel it's too specific a response to exist outside its initial conversation?
Is this what we've engendered? This foul spit
I drool down from the balcony
To insult strangers? And yet I sit
And hope that hate and alchemy
Will mix and somehow ease the ache that comes
When others gather where I'm uninvited.
The young, the rich, the one who plumbs
The subtle tongues while I feel slighted.
This impulse once led men like me to rip
And burn in secret. Real estate was lost.
So I suppose this virtual blade I grip
And faking flame has barely any cost.
I'm sorry that I'm lonely. In despair
I throw these petty stones out to the air.