Searching for Identity while taking life four days at a Time

(written circa 1997)

Who is this man I do not recognize?
Who is this odd stranger in the mirror?
Take a look at his stare, his cold, dark eyes!
His hands clenched in fists, I wonder what for.

This intruder hides his intentions well.
His hands are shaky and his face is pale.
His face looks familiar, like...I don't know,
like an old friend who has let himself go.

Like a derelict, a victim of love,
he wanders aimlessly through empty lands.
He crawls far below but looks high above,
reduced to a state well below a man.

He dwells in a harsh world of do or die,
stays in his circles where sleeping dogs lie,
a brand new dawn is his will to survive.
His hope for the future keeps him alive.