downtown galaxy - my poetry

"we are the future", some open interpretations

we are the ones who'll be left to make more who'll be left to make more who'll be left to make more who'll be left to

what'll we do when we're all grown up and all the adults are dead and gone? the cycle rinses and repeats, the changes are subtle, but do we fade or blaze brighter?

the gentle touches of our parents- irreplaceable, and we draw our own touches from them, and that's what they did with their parents, and that's what our kids will do with us, and it's a line extending forever in both directions

well, not necessarily. there's a set beginning, and a wavery but certain end, and we're all just trying to push our memory, if not ourselves to the end and we all wonder what's the point

but if there's anything public school has taught me, it's that a line (segment, probably more applicable) has infinite points, simply due to the infinite possibilities of points

i'd like to think those possibilities of finding points are the best part of living, even if we spend an inordinate amount of time flitting back and forth between the potentials, and we look for our potentials, and we worry if our own points will be remembered but what does it matter because our line segments aren't all linear

we bend, and twist, and intertwine, and we don't have to wait a second and in the end, looking back it's not a segment or a point

it's a tangle, and nobody can tell where it begins and ends, and

all

i want

to do

is get lost.