Otrovert

When validation is an empty art, and identity cannot hold the heart.

No nation can claim, no flag can hold, he follows inner law, spiritually bold.

He walks with ease, and with no need, he speaks, he smiles, he does the deed.

Not shy, not loud, not bound to crowd, present, but never too avowed.

He stands among them, yet apart, an observer in chaos — with separate heart.

The introvert tires, retreats to mend, the extrovert borrows light from friend to friend.

The otrovert does not drain, nor feed, he is his own compass, his own creed.

He does not rebel, he does not fight, he simply knows belonging is not right.

A guest in a living sphere, he claims nothing while he is here.

He is not cold, he is not alone, his love just plays in a different tone.

A deep, clear melody, quiet and true, where souls recognize when to see through.

For crowds are loud and truth is thin, and meaning rarely lives within.

But the whispering voice of the One in him is clear, and sensitive souls recognize he is near.

When the mind shifts to be of service, the voice finds its functional purpose.

When eyes of soul meet and light loses its dim, union is sensed therein.

He knows he is not other, and finally free, the world in the world, as it is, clearly to see.

Multiverses and their chain reaction, consciousness holds its observation in pure traction.