At the table

He sits quietly at the table

Thoughts are fading whispers, blending with the surrounding

They don’t know he’s unstable

Mental fissures abound, separate lives straining for release

 

Another speaks loudly

Contradicting the spoken rabble of unrecognizing fellows

They, use ignorance proudly

Acting as though the Tower of Bable were an umbrella of wisdom

 

He never wanted to sit in this chair

Dreams and glittering things always seemed so far

Now he finds his reflection stares

With marked dullness, eyes always ajar

 

There may further be hope

He’d known one or two to break away

But familial chains create rope

Settled lives require his day

 

Solace creates comfort on its own

Sacrifice the past for the future

His life is on loan

The father must be a producer

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