The Circle

It does not matter what he says or feels because there are too many opinions surrounding him. Every direction is a face, not a mirror for reflection, but a person that will show contradiction. That is what he has created, a room of empty mirrors and images. It could be a good thing if it left him in reflective thought, but instead what it has presented is an illusion of companionship. Instead it is a circle of criticism. He feels that circle closing in every minute, every day it gets smaller. You see his head now, jumping above the masses as he gulps for air. He is surrounded and battered, but never beaten. And as humanity takes him down beneath their feet of scorn, his last words ring true. “I have a voice.”


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