lost the title

Pacing, pacing, he walked to and fro
every so often
he stares
out the window
He wonders if anyone's watching
Do the pets count?
Of course they do.
No one's gazing, so
he decides to think thoughts other
dementia, mother's mother
reality becoming a reflection
of himself
fading out relatively
like everyone else

He doesn't expect understanding
he gave up long ago
voices took away freedom
a fraction of truth
tails of the in breath
heads of the out
flip a coin
so what
so

hearing vibrations
brings him to a chord
accordance to possibility
sound
encompassing valid ballads
tossing tasty salads
ears drum up the dish

A chaos of sorts
for history contorts
truth for advantage
ethics take a back seat
interpretation drives
desire
a street car

A shaman in the digital age
he sees the sheep
in society's cage
locked in prison deep, in prison keep
steep and blind
where the rage
becomes the mind
spattered on the dungeon wall
artificial phone to call
themselves

He's seen it, he knows.
It's something to hear
when the wind blows.

He wonders how
to make a difference
what now
life's interference

He'll craft a note
his mind's declaration
some things to be said
of founders of nations

To reach his world
the all of around him
he lies down curled
no longer

He Salutes the brave
who knows who they are
the real ones out there
that parked that old car