Minds in a vacuum-
it’s too cold outside.

Faces express gloom-
it’s time to hide.

Populations boom
when worlds collide,
giving little room
to turn the high tide.

Eyes over the crowd-
I shouldn’t take part.

Voice singing out loud-
I steel my heart.

When never allowed
a total restart
how can I be proud
of this quiet art?

Counting to
seven billion
thoughts like these
of an illusion…

Game of quantity-
there isn’t an end.

Life of quality-
too much to defend.

In reality
I tend to pretend
I’m an enemy
to a loyal friend.

Love is what I sought-
something to be yearned.

Pain is what I bought-
truth had to be learned.

In the end I thought
to become concerned
about being caught
up in what I’ve earned.

While I
still feign confusion
loneliness
is an illusion.