Traffic Cone

I was part of a line once.
Deliberate, straight, and happy.
Fluorescent orange on dark grey.
Stretching forever.
But no more.

Alas, I am now alone.
There is no longer any line.
There is only me.
Alone.
Lost.
Not a line, but a point.
A point of uncertainty.

Once I stood in the same spot.
Those either side in their same spot too.
Now my spot is never the same.
A bus stop.
A pavement.
A statue.
A roundabout.
A drunken head.
Through the world I travel.
An unwilling participant in the actions of others.
Powerless to resist.

On occasion I meet a fellow lost soul.
He too equally displaced in this chaotic realm.
We cannot move.
But we can think.
We can share the same thought.
A longing.
Longing for the line.
Fluorescent orange on dark grey.
Stretching forever.
But no more.