Solitary reaper

 Cacophony of the eventide –
That cats slip unobserved –  their claws retracted
But beneath the cloak ever lies the dagger
With cliques and coterie in cahoots –
Of extrapolated and exaggerated realities,
What lies not in their spectrum of ‘sensibilities’
Banished from their band –
Their bandwagon burnished but with the boorish banalities
Would you fit in or outgrow their mushrooming mould?
To lose every skein of who you are, to be the crowd?
Nay and so, the wanderers seek their own trail
In silence and in solitude –
Sometimes turning into solitary reapers,
And yes, the sickle smacks loud in the stillness of the air,  
But that is when you hear yourself,  above the cacophonic droll
And, you are no longer a cat on one slipping edge of a wall!