what's the purpose here where he sits
is he trusted yet under round light
and no clouds with a chill in the air
a sweatshirt becomes necessary
as darkness approaches
he is miles from where he thought he'd be
by now finding some answers
maybe one that would clear
the clouded mind might make
different decisions if the mind cleared
like all the fields ready for spring
to bring forth something new
maybe fifth time around another corner
hiding from himself behind the pen
the page the mind keeping him caged
like a bird that sings but really
just wants to fly...
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