for i no hearth exists,
in the jigsaw i does not fit,
a nomad in the timeless mist,
content in his ignorant bliss,
idle dew drops captivate,
this i in his opiate escape,
fantasies reflect in his eye's glaze,
unfixed staring at arbitrary space,
freedom within his cage,
an oblivion of his mind's array,
for his thoughts no page,
the depravity of chaos portrayed,
he, transient, filled with quiet sorrow,
either a day behind or a day ahead,
a yesterday or a tomorrow,
either way i does not live in the present state,
now this i sees,
in the dreamscape a travesty,
in our humanness a frailty,
we bereft of sensibilities,
this broken soul wistful,
yearning for clarity,
sighing at his humanity,
and all its idiosyncrasies.
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