in darkness, i watch shapes pass by, beyond recognition, moving on, indifferent to the presence of the perpetual outsider
i see faces from a distant place, or maybe not so distant; i don't recall but maybe it's no different i wave; i'm invisible
sometimes i wonder what i'm doing here why i haven't moved on, rather than along with those others, that neither know me nor are able to, let alone wish to
with some effort, i soar onward but the path is of nobody's choosing so many a time it leads to the meaningless, but anywhere's better than here
then i see those distant faces again, that depict the mutual joy of recognition but i can only mourn at the inevitable that they cannot accept my only gift
coming full circle, the descent is abrupt my greatest toils come to nothing, for no one sees, let alone cares about, the perpetual outsider
Having had, for so long, nothing to write on an uninteresting life, I've decided to follow Glenn's idea of putting poetry and various writings into the journal.
The piece above is my first try at writing something that sounds vaguely vague, but it's nowhere near as abstract (or spontaneous, for that matter) as I want it to be. Its formlessness, though, is intentional.