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Purpose, Upended
Vices amble the odd-cobbled roads
And drops ripple the canals,
Drenching the undeterred.
There he wanders; a voyeur,
Peeking at the seconds of lives
That trawl or stride past him.
Purpose suspended in this land not his own.
In feeling to live and exist as alone
He is alone in a crowded room
With silence dampening the noise;
Idle time and an eager mind
Do wonders to wanton contempt.
And so he'll walk and watch and search
For a nook to base himself.
But each corner that extends
Is a corner condemned.
Perhaps the earth is unfitting
For such a life in limbo.
