The prophet running down the street, too fast
I watch the asphalt moving behind, too fast
Is it while the road stand apart
That I stall, the living dead?
Is it not the fury and wrath of a civilization buried?
Is it not the susurrus of a motion unrelenting?
I remain standing, motionless by the incessant waves of humanity passing me by
I stand, hesitant to step inside the heart of the myriad bustling with vivacity
I, the sceptic, the lover, the eternal arbiter of a land unknown,
I will stand by you,
Not being your part but with my frailty and integrity,
I’ll vex you, perforate your omnivorous design,
I am your paramour and dissident
The rebel and the rabble
And the demise your eternity so carefully wiped away.