Exile

Through no fault of conscious mind
I have been torn away, brushed aside.
And while I ponder my own exile,
I regret it to be, almost worthwhile.
Indeed the animosity and revile,
The hate and all that is hostile,
Bring me to the edge, the very brink.
My pathos and apathy in perfect sync.
But the question of my seperation,
Is the answer of my desperation.
And through no fault of conscious mind,
Here in exile, I chose, I must reside.