by

Michael Levy

The mask slips as the doors close,
time to undertake an invisible Pose
a man from nowhere, who nobody knows,
obscure and aloof from society's shows.

The nameless one, no symbol or label,
all the cards laid bare on the banquet  table,
blowing in the wind that once rocked his cradle,
a prince among men now only a fable.

A statue standing in the town square,
people come to gaze and stare,
they look for a second but really don't care,
about the lonely figure of the man from nowhere.

An icon to the world now fertile as the land,
quietly drifts through time a solitary grain of sand,
echo wisps of voice, eerie ghostly command,
the man from nowhere no longer in demand.