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He is Alone

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He is the trees himself.
He is the river, which toes dip into.
He is the hallow sound of night.
He is the warmth of the sun.

He stands alone upon the moon,
watching what he can’t have.
He listens into convocations,
he can never speak.
He longs for the soft skin of a woman,
under his finger tips.
He morns for the loss of humanity,
in himself.

He is the cat that defies all.
He is the wind you cannot see.
The rain is his tears.
He is the rainbow that sings,
the sun to come.
He is what he doesn’t want to be.

He is alone.





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