he had knowing dreams of where he was going
all along upward he was swiftly growing
the always certain hand of fate was ever sowing
fields of poppies concealing secrets of the knowing
soon he forgot to remember that which he once knew
softly trading certainty for a comforting clue
now he is on his back staring at the blue
with eyes forever closed to that which is true
O’ how will his muddled gaze ever be wrested
from the flickering box on which it’s nested
given comfort as he is artificially breastfed
hate those people and love these things is where he is led
so the cycle continues to turn
until we coach the match how to burn
birthing a new world from the communal urn
ashes to ashes and with so much to learn
quietly he drops a stitch and skips a beat
out of line, missing steps of society's feet
absent fear of plans left incomplete
he renders acceptance obsolete
he stands alone