Who is this man? He asks
Eyes glazed, head aching from indecision
Lost in shapelessness, dazed from waking
Days from waking, insulated

Who is this man, this boy?
Moments of clarity make cameo appearances
distraction more tangible than progress
dullness whispers promises emptier than air
Air stales and grows tired

Some days, he could sleep until dusk
Those days, motion is given over to rust
Some days, he can feel the warmth of Grace
A power unfettered, forgiving of his lagging pace.