Through a glass door
framed by a tattered curtain
he stares at the garbage of his life
piles lined like broken soldiers
left to die in an overgrown field
He was young once
but he has forgotten his innocence
long obliterated by indifference
He stands mute against the intrusion of others
believes his island of clutter
saves him from the normality of life
A king in his domain of one
but the forces are coming
demanding that he change his face to theirs
He will not
an outsider among strangers
no one listens
no one cares
Alone he stands alone he watches
a sovereign in a darkening domain of one
StoryGirl 