"I yield belief in nothing", says the soul seeker,
introspective at best,
a cynic sick with mimic at worst.
How he lives with no attainable goals is surreal.
He cannot feel, watching his hands,
mirrored by the alleyway puddles,
laughing on behalf of himself.
He lay waste to the world,
set the stage for extinction,
he is learned, he is still.
There was freedom in his silence,
the caged bird set free,
without language, without word in anything,
a pathway set for nothing, nowhere.
Misled man of faith, or lack thereof.
Estranged and exhausted in attempts to feign feeling,
he merely associates, commemorates.
Built by a precedent and an impeccable memory.
He was tried as beast, a barbarian,
an insidious parasite, seeking only catastrophe.
