A Synthetic Soul

The Ponderer

There's a man in this world
who's hands are always cold.
He doesn't give a damn and
there's no place that he calls home.

His eyes are like a fire
burning in the night.
Dancing in his mind
are dreams of another life.

He walks barefoot across cold sand.
His shadow is his only friend.
Not even feeling the wintry wind
on this moonlit night across his skin.

He searches for the purpose of meaning.
Never finding the answers that he's seeking.
He ponders if he's asking the right questions.
Left alone to blunder and learn life's lessons.

No one ever sees him and seldom he speaks at all.
No reason to believe in the scattered masses abroad.
Seeing that life is fleeting, it's just a dream to us all.
One minute you're standing, the next minute you fall.

Day after day he slaves, working his fingers to the bone.
Every muscle aches, but the job is never done.
Once a day he waits to glimple the setting sun.
Having never taken a chance to share this with anyone.

Many years have come to pass him by.
And many years he sat and wondered why.
Until today as he was passing away.. he realized
all along, he was all alone, all his life.




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