I am a rebel to their sight;
I have destroyed their lovely night;
My birthplace is displeased with me;
My plain fellows loathe what they see.

I am a rebel to their souls;
I have not understood their calls;
What forms a day, in their daylight;
What is a morning, at their night?

I am a rebel on the run;
In search of the sweet midnight sun;
In need of certainty and awe;
In want of clarity and law.

I am a rebel on the go;
That the unspoken dawn shan’t know;
The insane poet the crowd shan’t meet;
The unwritten course they shan’t read.

I am a mad rebel that haunts;
A fragile fool none near shall want;
Too hushed to their noisy sleeps;
Too quiet to their talking lips.

I am a quiet rebel that screams
The sun is a threat to my dreams;
And the thousands that live thereof
Shall not ingest my kindred love.

I am a rebel that denies;
I could not fathom their bronze skies;
That, on such endless summer’s days
Asked me to find my own lost ways.

I am a stunned rebel that cries;
My world floats just like butterflies;
I have too many tastes and fears;
My fate is anywhere but here.