Out of Sight

The station is swarmed, with rushing waves of robotic steps,

No one acknowledging the other, unobservant

Of the evil, amongst them, for they’re completely focused

On their own, selfobsorbed, face buried into their screen

That is constantly running, as they pass the chameleon

That doesn’t have to try too hard, observing the detached,

Why would the stampede, halt at his feet, or even acknowledge

His passive presence, that barely flutters the butterfly,

A tattered vision, tucked into the deep crowd,

He displays, their hideous nature, for them to peer

And gawk at, disgusted by his horrid stench that pervades

Their carefully crafted bubble, ignorant to the reality,

He revels in the convoluted entanglement, seemingly orchestrated

By the devil in his skin, but no one notices his enjoyment,

Although distinct, it hides under the world’s congested noses,

Out of sight, but deep in their minds, is the mass puppeteer.

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Within

Reduce silence, demands the moment
When he kneels at her presence,
Clutching his heart, trying to suppress
The spew of his emotions,
Feeling the chill of her gaze upon him,
And the heat of her breath, swallowing him,
She then started climbing down
From her pedestal, her steps
Echoing, through his armor, pervading
His self bounded steel,
Yet all she has to do, is haunt his wound,
Placing her hand,
Upon his quivering shoulder,
Then reaching in, for what he tries
To shield, from her invasion
Upon his shattered crest,
Every time she grabs hold, his breathing
Halts, as if he had forgotten how to,
Iced over and left for the stalking truth,
He is deathly afraid
Of the world.

©DorianPoe 2016