I wish I was more.
As I grow older,
I can feel myself shrinking.
My voice becomes quieter,
Barely audible in a cluster that has others just like it.
Wanting my words to be original,
I create my own language
Only to later find that thousands
speak the same.
I mix and match emotions, ideas, and beliefs,
Hoping to have a trait about me
That I can honestly call my own.
Yet, the paint still only makes the same colors.
The wind will only ever blow in certain directions.
There will not be anything 'new'.
There is no 'new',
Only the old made better
Or shaped differently
Or, in most cases, called another name.
One creature's 'god' is another creature's 'conscious'.
One's 'sin' is another one's 'natural'.
One people's 'evil' is another people's 'law and order'.
All the same but with different names.
I sound the same as all that makes noise.
My voice becomes quieter,
Barely audible in a cluster
that has others just like it.
YOU ARE READING
The Book of Poetry in the Back of My Cabinet
PuisiJust a bunch a poems... let's see where this goes. You should read them though, if you like poetry. They're pretty cool. Yes... I write poetry because I'm too lazy to write full stories.
