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.