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EvilToasterElf
Posts: 1,119
The months of my calendar flip like pages in a book
The sun draws out of the bed a series of habits
I rarely have moments to sit and look
Decipher all the things that are my world
To question what it is that I believe
Or bathe in the endless mysteries
The clothes I wear all seem to be smaller
Thoughts are boiling like a covered pot of water
And although my legs haven’t grown taller
Everything inside me seems to spill over
Are my dreams the dreams of my father?
Should I be life’s character or life’s author?
The cities are coated with a layer of disaster
As gardens covered with a blanket of snow
Will the things we build survive the hereafter?
The seeds of steel and glass may never be planted
Is it that knowledge makes youth travel faster?
Or that memory is our slave and our master?
The path to understanding may be a shortcut
The path of creation plodding and narrow
The forces of change, from quasar to chestnut
Are without magnitude, or fixed importance
To entreat insignificance, will only bring sorrow
For good or ill, existence feels only tomorrow
Is there some plan to all human interaction?
Are casual glances atoms careening along?
An explosion of energy, and our world’s a reaction
To an unanswerable question, that exists only in rhyme
In sleep will we find where we truly belong?
Will our exploits be captured in some immortal song?
The sun draws out of the bed a series of habits
I rarely have moments to sit and look
Decipher all the things that are my world
To question what it is that I believe
Or bathe in the endless mysteries
The clothes I wear all seem to be smaller
Thoughts are boiling like a covered pot of water
And although my legs haven’t grown taller
Everything inside me seems to spill over
Are my dreams the dreams of my father?
Should I be life’s character or life’s author?
The cities are coated with a layer of disaster
As gardens covered with a blanket of snow
Will the things we build survive the hereafter?
The seeds of steel and glass may never be planted
Is it that knowledge makes youth travel faster?
Or that memory is our slave and our master?
The path to understanding may be a shortcut
The path of creation plodding and narrow
The forces of change, from quasar to chestnut
Are without magnitude, or fixed importance
To entreat insignificance, will only bring sorrow
For good or ill, existence feels only tomorrow
Is there some plan to all human interaction?
Are casual glances atoms careening along?
An explosion of energy, and our world’s a reaction
To an unanswerable question, that exists only in rhyme
In sleep will we find where we truly belong?
Will our exploits be captured in some immortal song?
Post edited by Unknown User on
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Comments
I'm glad you put it up too! I enjoyed all the thoughtful questionning and quizzing--very insightful!