I asked you if you loved me.
In short, you said no.
You said: "I love the time I spend with you, I love you as a person
But this world has broken me so much. I keep everyone at arms length.
You don't want to be close to me."
I said okay, and you kissed me.
Finally filling in the last piece of your puzzle,
My feelings for you are complete.
No more questions, no more lies, no more hiding.
I can finally let you go.
I am free.

On my way back home from an evening walk
I noticed ,as I always do
People
And what they do

A little boy with a bag of chips
Brought a smile on my lips
I did smile at him
He smiled back munching on his chips

Barely a few minutes apart
My son's friend riding pillion with his dad
Waved at him and he gestured back

A woman and her son holding hands
Taking an evening walk
The son my age or older than me , ageing mother some illness she had couldn't understand that
Felt blessed that we have people who do care.
Thanked the son in my heart .

Then,
A little girl and her mother , hands held
Walked past me
A feeling , I do relate
From ,
What  I had noticed
A few moments before, which made me a bit sad .

An old friend , a neighbour from yesteryears , she has twin sons .
I remember they were toddlers then .
One of them accompanied her
A handsome young man , Sure, he did not recognise me.

A little chat with my friend
And there , I reached home .

If a wish was true,
And nothing else was  permanent.

I'd have some sort of relevance,
nothing really.
Just a point of others distances,
Its not like we're truly alone
Maybe not

How else do you help the others...

(minor correction in the shape of a overlooked
letter "t" after the partial non word "ves.)"

while atop the surface of planet Earth humanity
     all abustle skittering
     to and fro, hither and yon
engaged in self important activity yielding profits,

     sans blood, sweat and tears won
full throttle industrial
     manufacturers quaking unstoppably
     only intermittently pausing,

     where managers standing arms akimbo
     asper quizzical looking hue cree ton
megaphone blaring orders to underlings
     so "Boss" tweed can line pockets
     for his/her daughter and/or son
Head Honcho most aggrieved,
     when red ink doth run

undermining the bottom line,
     thus farming out labor to distant places
     (where wages amount to pennies on the dollar)
     locals such as Lake Woebegone, Qum, Timbuktu,
     et cetera where pun
gnashing working conditions tantamount
     to slave labor,

     yet scare other options open
hence able bodied men,
     women and children scramble,
     despite back breaking grueling physically
     exhausting grunt job accepting second to none

with nary any rest for weary
     long as workweek includes a mon
day, where bloodied bare hands claw
     purported Mother lode with feigned frenzied zest
enterprise bolstered via executive bank ministers
     financing lucrative scheme

     attended to by majordomo
     attired in expensive vest
corporate investment project elicits
     quaffing, imbibing, and chugging elixir

     produced from heavily guarded recipe
     qua electric kool aid acid test
where coeval business men/women rest
assured bonanza forecast upon

     former green acres hiding treasured quest
marginally concerned such nettlesome
     pillaging, ravaging, torturing ranks
     wealth driven vanity as deleterious pest

shortsighted exploitation money making embarkation
     glorified as investment nsync to feather nest
retirement funds despite leaving the environment messed
up, whereby future generations saddled with

     poorly bandaging gentrifying, resuscitating
     gaping wounds upon Gaia at best
shortening quality of life
     for all (poetry) Earthlings aye attest.