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

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