He is a pariah
Tossed aside like a scrap of food
Antiquated
Ever-changing like a demon's mood
His words are pale
Like leaves blowing in the wind
His eyes are a stark contrast
Dancing among hues as he transcends
He is a smuggler
Housing the secrets of a generation
A benevolent rain is falling
In this desert of hibernation
He dreams in allegory
Brandishing an army of mystery
Waking up only starts the dream again
To stare down barrels of his own artillery