Alone like wolf that has drifted from his pack
And forced for survival, to live with a flock of birds
He cant fly like they,
Unable to hunt or act or speak like they
Feeling the bloody need to devour his adopted family
Yet fearing the coldness of tomorrows inevitability
He knows he’ll eventually have to succumb to himself
That is the nature of existence but he continues to lie to himself
And he continues to push his needs and beliefs down into the pit of his soul
And replaces it with a superficial crust worthy of keeping him going on
What is a hunter to look forward too if he cannot hunt?
Where is a poet to exist if he cannot, between the lines and letters of his soul?
Lost, Alone, able to see what others are blind to and blind to what others so vividly see
Displaced, exiled from where he truly belongs
And forced to exist in a dimension he cannot begin to perceive
He relates for similarities do exist, but to what extent?
How do two relate when one seeks what has been
Thrown away and considered garbage
While the other seeks the dark sides of the stars?
When one is too scared of spaces that he puts himself in a cell
While the other with his mind is destroying the bars?