The world awakes when light at dawn shines
             and wrinkled blankets greet the coming day,
                   then hazy colors dance and form in lines,
                        a surging mass that moves as if to say,
  “We’re here but can’t you see we’re not the same?”
                          A sea of lonely souls in deep dismay
                that rise from lovers’ beds in sleepy shame
         to dance the dance of their redundant pain
They pray the world might someday know their name
           while working jobs they hate for money’s gain.
                      So sad that in this world the lonely pine
                            in morning traffic looking for a lane,
                           to set themselves apart and so define
                        their lives by lucky breaks, as if divine.