I have a crepuscular soul,
Some would say.
By so many natures.
Light is still seen within every corner of my Horizon…
Most lay imprisoned within their own Darkness.
Whether or not they call it New York City,
A concrete jungle,
Their own hearts and minds…
Refuse to do so.
Even if cuffs were to hug my wrists as tight as you can imagine,
Its chains remain broken.
For all I really fear in my brittle life,
Is the coercion to walk how I am told to do so,
Like America and the Blind,
Enjoying their own illusions…