Singular

A poem.

Image by Fillipe Gomes from Pexels

I am an individual,
See the company I keep —
Individuals, like me
Hiding between herds,
A motley of moving figures in thick coats.

As an individual,
I am not shaken by their rustling noise,
So long as I might continue to illustrate in silence
That cross-hatched image —
The imperfect one I call my favorite work of art;

And as an individual,
It doesn’t quite matter enough
To live in a broken picture of reality —
The people around me, with their puzzling words,
mismatched faces, to put together for my own;

So long as I continue to move my wrist,
A time-worn hand, the length of an overused arm,
The singular work of someone like God,
The human being, inveigled, too,
Looking upon his work, as Art —

That — a masterpiece,
which belongs in safety,
In my shelter — a museum,
In my world — a Paradise,
In my peace — a vast imagination

Those places that reveal from within hiding that
Yes, I am an individual.