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The most unfair thing I was ever taught In my sorry little life, Is that death is the only thing you can rely upon. I was most upset to find that I was not transcendent To all those fools That succumed to the hands of death before me. Why, I could kick and scream, I could crawl and plead But I still must make my merry little way Back into the Earth I was born from. And so life - what of it? I know that I shall grow up and become an adult And therefore more childish with each day. And so why should I don those suits That stifle my throat And choke my idea of ‘I’? Noon is the most sublime time To emerge from dreams and to be greeted by the sun And not blaring alarms, or bleeting chidren. Thus, I yearn to write. Not out of skill And certainly not out of profit, But to take back all of those moments with my back upon the soil. For when I am feeble and when I am spent, I know by now that I shall regret Not the moments with empty pockets But the world that I lost In a restless rush, In a useless toil.
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Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 8:00 PM UTC
A Realisation
The most unfair thing I was ever taught In my sorry little life, Is that death is the only thing you can rely upon. I was most upset to find that I was not transcendent To all those fools That succumed to the hands of death before me. Why, I could kick and scream, I could crawl and plead But I still must make my merry little way Back into the Earth I was born from. And so life - what of it? I know that I shall grow up and become an adult And therefore more childish with each day. And so why should I don those suits That stifle my throat And choke my idea of ‘I’? Noon is the most sublime time To emerge from dreams and to be greeted by the sun And not blaring alarms, or bleeting chidren. Thus, I yearn to write. Not out of skill And certainly not out of profit, But to take back all of those moments with my back upon the soil. For when I am feeble and when I am spent, I know by now that I shall regret Not the moments with empty pockets But the world that I lost In a restless rush, In a useless toil.
Edward-Coles
Written by
26/M/English
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 8:00 PM UTC
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