The Realist

A two year delay

A coming of age

The evidence

Upon this page


A shock of sorts

But one of fact

Opened the case

My feelings were packed


I now can see clear

To confusion beyond

This familiar me

Of whom I’m quite fond


Now I’ve returned

To my rented soul

To see the filth

Which now fills the hole


This humble abode

Never the same

Whose is the portrait

Within the frame?


If I must be alone

Then alone I will be

Back to the time

When it was just me.