I am the only solitary wanderer of my kind.
They come, in pairs or more, lost, helpless,
A pack of rats in a maze.
And I, cup of coffee in hand, wield it with ferocity,
Displaced and fearing disillusion,
Losing something of myself to time.
Lonely, I sit silently, gazing solely toward the front--
Towards the future? Who can say?--
Stationary now, pen gripped between white knuckles,
Filling snowy expanses with meaningless blue.
Like lemmings of lore, they file out together over a cliff,
And I, empty cup in hand, finally follow.
And the first class is finished.