From where did he come?
Was he birthed?
And what were his parents like?
Or did he burst forth from a strobe of light?
How many forms can he take?
How does his mind not break?
A flower chases daylight
Moss hides in the night
And what does a sentient being think
When stuck in such a plight?
Does time tic on, like a beating drum?
Every second like a taiko strum
He's not really a plant, for he knows he can't die, he's a sentient form of life and can't experience the true meaning of dying as a plant. What if he's now a rock? In a bed of sediment, does his conscience drift, and wonder where time went?
Does he interact with mankind?
He's more like a thing , that's alive, it doesn't breathe and has no heart beat, its nothing we can grasp, this immortal man, nothing as nothing can.