Shifting the Weight

While out on one dusktime promenade

You might cross paths with a lonesome figure

Cut of firm edges against the pale silver-blue sky

A passing kindred wanderer, the world to traverse

Typecast as a stranger in the crowd

The role seems to fit him all too well

He lives in kinship with Sisyphus

Shifting the weight of his mortal curse

He seeks the higher ground to perch

To drink in the small expanse of all

The green shading amongst the sunset colours

Its delicate hue his mind yearns to nurse

For a moment he finds peace

The air softly brushing against him

It holds a rare tender quality

Quelling the tumult and tremor of the multiverse

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