He sits,
They move,
He speaks,
They go on in their conversations ignoring his petition,
Signed by countless hands of alienation personified
In the hands of Old Man friendship;
The darkness illuminated by a dim candle of Truth
That is snuffed time and time again by noses looking too high
To see him, standing alone.
He is every man or woman
At some time or another;
Searching for affirmation
In accolades that never could nor would
Come from a world that doesn't care
Nor sees its own hand stabbing at the hearts of children
Who just want to feel love.
The piper of this world plays his fife
And finds many who follow in blind obedience
To where they know not and care not and would rather not know.
And he sits
She sits
And waits until someone says, "Hello."