I know not who will lend a torch
To light the path that I shall tread,
For I am the eternal stranger;
Where I linger shadows dread.

My eyes stare through the ones I know
And fix upon the somber sea.
Their fading apparitions vanish;
None shall deign to follow me.

I amble through the city of man
And hear the wisdom blithely spoken,
Words are mouthed dying icons,
"Forever, the circle remains unbroken."

But even now, the ring grows tarnished
Its gold grows tinged with mottled grey.
The promise of enduring haven
Is banished by each breaking day,
And I know that here I could never stay.

George Chadderdon © 1992