Our destinations lies in our own hands.
Dirt will be spilled on our names
Just to say;
We have a few fans,
But we’re still moving slow
While there’s no time left.
We’re falling out of place,
And on the edge of the clef.
Why?
We may perhaps ask;
The common question that is,
And will always be asked.
Even Albert Einstein asked questions
That he never held back.
We don’t live for today because
We’re scared to open our eyes.
Everything is a living nightmare hidden
In terror disguise,
But here’s our favorite question,
Why?
Why, we may never know why
The world really spins and move.
Scientists aren’t able to prove,
The changes, and different experiences
We go thru;
Not even a psychologist,
Or school.
We live in a generation,
Where being evil rules,
Killing is fun,
And swag is cool.
What happened to life?
The real meaning and definition.
The cool season, and the feel of
Being loved and seen by
Recognition.
Blazing temper fuels the world,
Along with sad frowns that we put on
For the show that is titled
“The confused clown.”
We are our own destination.
We live captivated under circumstances
We invade, spilling out our cries;
While playing Charades.
We get too hung in a daze.
We are our own destination…
Just wait

  

  -Marci