How nice it would be to become a poet
To make a life for yourself,
Spun from the words of your soul.

However, life is a fickle friend
It counts down the time
Until we evolve into from whence we came

If time were truly infinite,
We would all reach our potential.

Is it cruel?
That life continues on?
While our spirit fades into the background.
We remain frozen in time.

Stuck, alone, with no escape.
Is it cruel?
That the memories we made are truly meaningless.

1/31/2017 // 10:51 am


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