The spectre
The spectre.
This one is tired, his footsteps echos south through unfulfillment and Cresent moons
his cries reveal a crippling loneliness
A dagger that cannot be removed
he is invisible to the beings
the doings
he is invisible to the goings
on and on he roams in limbo
yearning to be seen
in agony, he begs for acknowledgement
For life to announce itself a pantomime of sense and flavor
he aches to feel the pushing and pulling of the dancing tides
his very consciousness grows tired of asking for identity.
stuck in a tangable dream the man looks inwards to lock eyes with a desolate land of self doubt and aimless illusion
I am the spectre that roams this earth
Tags: