Perspective




The man sits alone,
His hair is turning light brown,
Sorrow on his face,
And cruelty in his eyes...

Or maybe...

The man sits in a crowd,
His hair a fading blonde,
Apathy on his face,
And boredom in his eyes...

Or maybe...

The man stands with one other,
His hair unkempt and long,
A smile on his face,
Echoed in his eyes...

The man doesn't change,
Misunderstood,
Just like me,
Pathetically cliche,
And misunderstood.

But really...

There's no man at all,
Dust in light where hair could be,
No face,
No eyes...

What happens when the only thing there,
Is someone else's perspective,
And the man has long gone home?