Who is this man that I am, Unknown among friends?
Though surrounded by a throng I am alone
Feeling along blindly,searching for that thing he will not see.
In quiet desperation moving,uncertain of what is known
Longing for something missing, that was taken long ago
And in this maze wandering dreadfully suspicious, amazingly cautious
Knowing one wrong step will leave him broken
While forever the bastard whispers, hurtful shameful things
But He is not realů any more than I,
and yet together we move
We breathe, we exist.
In this same frame we hold to consciousness
Aware of that something that eludes us
Either I will find a way, or I will make one.
Philip Sidney