May 2019
My skin soft
My bones weak
My age immature
My broken spirit
A circus of possibilities
To every problem and remedies
Yet questioning my insanity and abilities
"Am I even possible?"
My skills deficient
My imagination corrupt
My vision bent
My self-image disgust
A dream meaningful and big
Once was now downhill
Questioning my insanity and abilities
"Am I even possible?"
A spill of my own prison
A path to my own oblivion
A thirst of inner expression
A sudden spark to my salvation
Am I even possible
Tell me Lord, is it worth the tears?
Are we born with wonders?
Or die wondering - "If ever I was possible?".
My bones weak
My age immature
My broken spirit
A circus of possibilities
To every problem and remedies
Yet questioning my insanity and abilities
"Am I even possible?"
My skills deficient
My imagination corrupt
My vision bent
My self-image disgust
A dream meaningful and big
Once was now downhill
Questioning my insanity and abilities
"Am I even possible?"
A spill of my own prison
A path to my own oblivion
A thirst of inner expression
A sudden spark to my salvation
Am I even possible
Tell me Lord, is it worth the tears?
Are we born with wonders?
Or die wondering - "If ever I was possible?".
I wanted to write this piece for a long time. It had been inside my head for quite a while but never really able to express it somehow. I keep asking this - "Are we born Mozart in some ways or will die not trying and knowing?"
