The Outsiders

A poem of alienation.

The mist falls on leopard skin dancers
The red sun breaks in places through the clouds
Why must they dance so slowly through time
Like statues thawing to life.

Are there many like us do you think
Peeking from hedges and gazing upon rectitude
Will men ever know that there is nothing that is glory
Inventions of human mind only slow.

Long blades. Claret grass.
Is this the way it’s supposed to be?
Tell me. Please tell me.

The insidious sun fades then howls at dawn.
Is this the way it will always be?
Tell me. Please tell me.