I don’t look at you directly not for the fear of what I may see in you but what you may see in me.
If shapes didn’t have names, what would we see when looking up at the clouds in the sky?
If you’re reading this
You’re one of the missing millions
How pathetic we’ve become
All of us, the missing millions
Never present in the moment
Always living behind what is real
Living through a screen, filter and selfie stick
You are the hero of your own story
The true Saviour
A living Deity
That was when your heart was pure
Free from the wear, tear and trials of life
The hapless role of hero, discarded
You cut the ties of a Saviour
Forsaken the vow of divinity
You’re not even strong enough to be the villain
For that there would need to be a passion, a reasons form a past, a story, a life once lived
All of those given up years ago
This is your story
So tell me
What are you now?