I'm an anomic loner, wretched
and cynical, trapped in a shell
of rootless musings,
trying to articulate my dreams
into the People's language.
Lest the birds speak,
they would understand.
Their singing, my whims,
attuned to a brand of sweetness
simple only to the naked eye.
From the depths of a nebula
soon there'll be a star.
From the height of my fears
everything seems a curse.
So breathe slow,
breathe deep.
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