To not smile,
Pariah
An aberrant
Miscreant
Misfit
Just trying
To speak with
This nitwit
But split with
What intellect
Left
I can find
In the weather conditions
Of my cloudy mind
My profession
Is obvious, no?
For why else
Would I dare go
Where others
Don’t care
To lend help
Unsolicited by
An archaic tradition,
A nationalistic
Hellbent
On submission
Like juxtaposed
Visions
Of master and slave
But reversing the roles
They so woefully
Play
Not the same
As one generates
What the will
Subjugates
To apposition  
The other
Can’t contemplate
Waiting and waiting
For fate
To come save him
And prostrate
Surrenders
His praises
Betray him
Allay trepidations
Of tepid impatience
For graves to at last
Come to make
His acquaintance