The hours and flowers
Are not often gone
Until the seasons of youth
Have so swiftly flown
Battles raged throughout the years
Against fate's ill decree
Scarred, torn and weary-worn
I wonder if this world
Has a place, for men like me?
People coldly shun
Turn without care
Deaf to cries of suffering
Seeking fantasy to hear
Life, played in varied parts
By gentle and fierce hearts
Doles out its casted roles
Even to the realist-misfit souls
Eyes of the people are not blind
They just refuse to see
Denying we even exist
The realists……the fools
Men like me