They sit at the back
Hope to remain ignored
Surrounded by the
Of another crude creed
Ears pricked, faces lowered
And poised to panic
They await my signal
As the concert begins
When all alone and lost at sea
Amidst the suited scowling fray
I picture fields with peace for me
And trees to keep them all at bay.
I pass them by, these blinkered hordes
And wonder at them as I go
Who register a life, of course,
But have no wish to watch it grow.
Their view of man disturbs me so
That I confess myself amazed.
They barely see me as I go
And hurry in their daily daze.
If I were dressed as prince, or king,
Rather than humble pauper here
They’d scramble fast to kiss my ring
Instead, they wish I’d disappear.
I don’t fit in here, never could.
Nor see I why I should or would
Be wishing such a life for me
As suited, booted, clonedly
They all appear to want to lead.
And barely living, stumble forth,
Motivation: only greed
And what the Joneses have, of course.