The Crowd

I am a ripple lost upon the commotion
Of the great ocean,
As the sea around me roars.
The applause
Of gulls
Lulls
Me towards a kind of doze,
A daydream, wherin I smell the sweet rose
or poetry compose.

Caught in a trap Of my own device.
I hear the clapping hands
Of those I do not understand,
For the flock know not, that they have lost the land.
I could walk away
But I must stay
And try not to guffaw
At the empty roar
Of the fickle crowd.

I would rather be a cloud
That sails high
In a tranq...