Poems and stuff

a final say

finally, one is satisfied with what they write

still, there is so much to say with so little ink

so little power in so many muscles

to move across a keyboard that clicks every time

guilt had popped one's head

to this day,

there will be no final say

in this calculated, constructed form of self

whether it is contradictory or obvious to many

to forever,

there will be no final say ever

but its okay if there is no clear way

to determine the future of our finite lives

so its also okay to try even though eyes must cry

to the final,

scratching vinyl, no revival with one's vial

kissing glass in hopes of true feats

no pity swallows this true defeat

so finally you realize this envious dismay

taking one's breath without the words of a final say

truly "kissing" one goodbye in hopes of dry cries

the true and golden say,

i will always love you

no matter, time, year, or day

previous to before, "to the final" is just a metaphor,

no need for serious glances, for 

the way we live is the way we write

and the way we write is the final say