At the time we are born
Our lives start with a lot of mess in the floor
As we grow up, we start to pick the mess
Then we choose if we throw it off or make it a nest
Or somehow, we could be crative
In fancier words, probably being innovative
We create, then our creation fails
Then we would feel like our hearts were penetrated by a nail
However, we choose to improve
And our bodies start to move
We see the failure with acceptance
And remove our ignorance
Now, our real adventure begins
No help, not even a hint
But we stick with a decision to improve
And leave a mark and others we shall move
—-—-———
Poet's Note:
Hello again, Randall here, and welcome to my "Untitled" series. And yes, as the first sentence suggests, there will be more of these in the future. You are free to put a title in this btw. But, it will still remain untitled.
What is this series? Well tbh I was inspired by how musicians have their titles with "etudes" or "opus."
So, why not treat literary pieces the same way?
Speaking of musicians, this poem was inspired by Chopin's Etude op.25 no.5 or "Wrong Note." If you're an anime fan, you might be familiar with the musical piece. But YLIA is not the reason I wrote this. Well, quarter of the reason. But most of the time, I took the dissonance in the majority of the musical piece as a concept of "mess."
Well then, sayonara!
