My Work (Poem)

As I watch the world around me,

Flourishes in the one element that I have little,

I am reminded just how lonely I am,

In my fortress of philosophy.

It is strange, To experience true love,

Only in a dream at night.

A feeling only experienced once,

In over dozens years of inner ramblings.

I speak with followers and consultants regularly,

But only rarely,

A true friend.

I can endure this, as I have sworn to do,

It's worth it, in the end,

To use this life as a mere vessel,

For something truly greater, worthier, than myself.

Solitude has made me a colder man,

And even though it pains me so,

I regret it not.

I no longer see the reason,

To be nameless, with shorts and a tank top,

Standing near a nameless counterpart, with equal attire,

When I can become,

My heart's greatest desire.

Those who wish me to abandon, to leave,

Other than this -- I have little else to live.

From the birth of year to its eve,

All I desire, is to be informative.

I thus abandon one else -- the illusory sensation,

Presented to me by the subconscious,

And might as well never feel it again,

But at least I can say,

That there was little waste.

I will, therefore, embrace the cold,

And prepare myself, to be served as a feast,

Of all follower-material,

From West to East.

North and South..

A philosopher is what I am all about.