Laughter and song now spill into the air;
Crowds full of pre-scheduled joy.
Hung within network of brown barren branch
I flutter as a kite without flight.
Welled and walled by preoccupying thoughts,
I still do my time, as solitary in cells
And scribble my dislocated verbs.
Lost in the illusion of unfounded fame,
I shuttle between isolated hubris of self
And promise for a collective of hope.