He plays by his own tune, an inventor,
investor in himself.
To others he might seem like one at odds with the world,
but there are no odds in his world,
nothing to gamble or lose.
He is the solo player of his own team,
bricklayer of his own foundation.
The harmonies of his life are rich and silent
scorching the ears of those that hear.
He sits alone but surrounded,
tinker of his craft,
weaving threads of agéd phrases,
polished relics, softening the edges.
He listens like a broken watch waiting for the minute,
but he is always second to those who shout or howl or cry.
A river runs through him.
Gushing the tide of humanity flows fast,
shaping those around him,
voicelessly moulding us into his works of art.