In the din of crowded rooms, my voice but a breeze, Whispering secrets none seem to seize. “I’m not their friend,” I confess to the night, A solitary figure, a forgotten plight.
Blind to the burdens that in my heart weigh, They chase after lies that lead them astray. My truth, a lantern dimmed in the fog, Lost to those dialogues, a muddled monologue.
They believe not in the words I propose, But in the echoed untruths that around them close. A world fabricated by the hands of kin, Where falsehoods are draped as truths within.
Alas, I walk this path alone, unseen, Invisible truths with me convene. Yet still I hold the torch up high, A beacon for those who might question why.
For perhaps one day, through the dense haze, A wayward soul will catch the blaze. And see beyond the veil so thin, To where deceit ends and truth begins.
Till then, I wander, an outcast of minds, My solace in the few who seek what they find. Though people don’t listen, don’t see the creed, I carry the truth, not for me, but for the need.
