A wandering Man
Free and confined
To colours blind
Blind to the world he flees
He hesitantly heeds
The established decrees
The man still
Desires that thrill
He must resist
Or his path will be missed
Desist desist desist
He persists
He knows it to be destructive
And yet the self seductive
Still echoes in his thoughts
In the sphere of disaster
The Man's future rots
Solvent time his master

The Man was always observing
Adoring their spinning, entrancing
Intrigued by their jubilant air
Their lives danced as ribbons without care
Their dance ethereal, espousing tragic times
They still had faith in their kind
Though to him, hopelessly left behind
Such allure could not be designed
The man vowed to abide by their ways
To release his cynical role, a watchman of strays
He is prevented by isolating distaste
He must always be the stranger in face
A dichotomy between the Man and his Place
For once you perceive existence's source
The chase is impossible without remorse.

The Man glanced longingly at the night sky
A lethargic evening spent pondering why
His existence continues still, which solicits a sordid sigh
The conclusion not to be heard
For it is a beautiful illusion, even if absurd
The man becomes one by loving the starry scape
Feeling the light embrace, his solemn escape
Knowing full well his meaning is null
He has an undying passion which resists the cull
To rejoin with the abyss, he overcomes the rift
His sole comfort provided by the expansive collective
Untempered by the pensive perspective
The Man rests his eyes and sees clearly
The origin of his self; Scepsis, serenely subsides to weary
Embalming dreams cushion his descent into Celestia, nearly