A breeze softly touched me
as I strolled to nowhere
in particular,
reflecting me.
My dreams faded
from decisions
of powers that be,
not contemplated
by rational thought,
but greed and duplicity.
The fog of uncertainty
clouds my presence
and I wonder
if I am alive.
Am I that piece,
pounded to fit,
now tattered, discarded,
edges worn from
too many tries to please,
now replaced by
a more comfortable norm?
Where now, is my place,
my niche?
Whose puzzle do I complete?
Perhaps I'll ask the breeze
that blows,
softly touching me.