Outcast
L
Laurence Overmire
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A frail boy, greasy black hair and
Braces, zits too many to ignore
Shunned by his fellows, driven to
Sanctuary inside his head, dreams
To salve the woundings, illusions to
People better worlds, an art born
In paper and ink, in brush of
Splendid color, the sum time of
Life expressed in vivid moment
Others may try to enter and be
Repelled, the loneliness has a shrill
Voice at times, but those who truly wish
To understand are welcome in the darkness:
A brief candle lights an inner passage, hidden
Place where priceless treasure is kept.
~ Laurence Overmire
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