Diary of a Scattered Man (III)

Between what I knew and what I lost,
I am a man, though not much,
Somewhere between the brake and clutch.

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Look at all the weary people dancing around,
Weary eyes and weary heads stomping happy feet,
Look at all the weary people of the broken crown,
Waiting for a king, tell me what you see.

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Rhetor, Rhetor, on the wall,
Makes a sophist of us all.

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May the bones sing, the mouth weep,
And the eyes bleed for You.

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You were destined for another,

I want you all the same,

We were hopeless to each other,

But I'm still filled with shame.

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It's time to break the mold of bearded-wisdom-seers,
My baby face alone sets me apart from my peers,
A boy of the wandering fold, born to learn to roam,
One purpose clear: to grow and die to root the grove.

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Non Fin