What is your story? What say you, curtsy, wile and whisper -
You, the everyman, blank face in the crowd;
You, the stranger on the streets, decked out and dapper;
nay We, who exist in the life of the life gone, forgotten, that Time enshroud?

What pictures do your eyes behold in visions past and present-
drawn to memory in intangible ink yet indelibly lustre?
From whence the dreams do you evoke in daytime quiescence
or cascading phantasms painted on pitch-black canvasses unfurled in slumber?

What paths have you taken, to gloom or glory
and upon which pedestals have you stood in crowning echelon -
when once upon a mountain peak, above clouds, you stood proudly -
or taking solace in sidewalk shelters with no home to go to thereupon.

What words should escape your lips in all manner of dictum
or wisdom and deceit for all intents and folly?
Words in coalescence like beads on strings, the essence of rhythm
threaded by tongues in guile and unwitting poetry:

What say you, as but a flower linger and wither
in the winds of Time; a mere flicker in the lives of stars?
What prose should speak your story, hither or dither
in unwitting poetry - nay Unpoetry! - as the Everyman exemplars?

Alas Unpoetic, the story of us all in bloom
told in unwitting poetry and archetypal analogue.
Alas so unique the lives we lead from conception in the womb
should by perchance end with a humble epilogue.