First Person Last

“Awake” he says.
He jumps from his bed.
Fiendishly fiendish. 
“No purpose” he says,
dreading a dread.

A dream of a “hunt”
broke his will.
No sleep until
He finds
“his kill”.

”Where do I begin?”
He looks and sighs
with a grinless grin.

So utterly lost,
nothing tamed, 
save for the useless 
discards of one 
meek and lame.

He, but I 
walk this walk,
alone and squawk
only of himself,
to myself,
"yet why?"

“Alone in my life”,
He finds that he
Walks amongst,
millions, but sees
only the “me”.

He finds no
guide but his,
“I am selflessly
Selfish.”
It is what it is.

"I look to help
another soul
when it is but mine,
I should console!”

Try, as he might
he cannot withdraw
from knowing the known,
“What concerns me
concerns us all.”

Trying to wrest,
from his coil,
and see what others see.
"'Impossible', says me!” 
finding the love
of another is only 
the love for he.

He lost the forest,
save for the tree,
"I give of myself,
for myself,
just me.”

Alone in the end,
so he tries again,
to think of another,
a soul, a spirit,
a sister, a brother…

“Is it really and truly
 just of thee?”
and discovers at last,
his thoughts
that pass are 
not of just one
but we.