Like a spectre in a crowd,
I cannot cross beyond the shroud,
I scream at the top of my lungs,
But I may as well be speaking in tounges.
I am invisible to the group,
As you all instantly fly the coup,
I am left to fend for myself,
Like a dusty war and peace on the bookshelf.
I want to break from my mind,
But I am trying to move while blind,
Reaching out to touch your hand,
But it would be easier to escape from quicksand.
The Gazelle with the broken leg,
“Help me,” I start to beg,
But the pack has left me stranded,
The weak have been branded.
I am left alone in the wild,
The mother who has been exiled,
Silently following the pack,
Hoping that they will take me back.