Circles

Soft riddles spoken out of turn
Confusing the sound of his voice
As he speaks to the masses

Hiding amongst the collection
Of his broken thoughts and words
He doesn't even see that he's alone

Picking up a piece or two
And staring at their broken image
Useless bits of forgotten lore

Repairing the way it was
Or taking the path before him
Seldom described lucid sanity

Makeshift traps of his dreamer's heart
Recording the world that surrounds
As he slowly moves his feet

Tripping and choking on angry dust
Until breathing becomes raw
The air is thick with his foolish pride

Mazing along at an ordinary pace
While tears of injustice become the taste
His reliance upon faith endures anew