Simulacrum

I study him

He towers over most

   yet feels dwarfed in their presence

 

He tries to understand life,

But it is a game of Scrabble;

   sans vowels

 

He is composed

But his mind tick . . . tick . . . ticks . . .

   anger long repressed awaiting a mad minute

 

He has deep emotions

Rivers of anguish can flow from his eyes

   but he can be as hard as a diamond shines

 

He feels alienated

Nervously eyeing civilization

   while gone underground in their midst

 

He simply seeks peace of mind

   but cannot attain a truce

 

War's end?

 

Not for him!

 

It lingers in his day dreams and haunts his nightmares

   the incubus of his soul

 

I reach out and touch my mirror image craving a oneness

   but alas, he is just . . .

 

Glass

 

Author's Note

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