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.