why have we died already?
why have we let go,
when we were just holding on, a moment ago?
distractions be damned, hold on to me, not
your idea of self, or your talk of tomorrow,
talk of today. why do we walk like this,
talk like this, feel this way, every day
burning through pages and pages of
wasted dialogue,
the shredder running as fast as the printer
which one are you trying to create, and
have you decided yet? there's still hope,
there's still hope, there's
still hope.
notes from a not-for-profit life. reader notes for poems: bold represents emotional thought, boldness; italics represent narrator-thought or God-thought.
No comments:
Post a Comment