Standing alone,

waiting one might suppose,

remember when,

standing alone

meant a sort of a test,

a marking of who we might

want to be,

want to be seen to be

who we might think we could

be presupposed while we desperately

find an eventual outcome.

 

Whenever the rains

pour upon my dreams,

I sometimes shudder silently,

wondering where I really am.

Could I be,

is there a matter of a – see,

a reason to have any passion

toward realizing

our dreams are our own.

 

Building walls,

nearly all my life,

so that today,

the shattered foundation,

a crumbling facade,

no longer holds them at bay,

instead I find my identity

again,

stands alone.