The tragic beauty of being alive
My thoughts of smallness, insignificance
Loom so large that they blot out
The infinite universe that makes me feel small

Oh what a tragedy
to be able to contemplate
your place in an infinite cosmos

Oh what a great gift
to be able to comprehend a small sliver
of the unimaginable expanses of existence

A beautiful tragedy
this cursed gift of consciousness
to be awake is
to fear eternal slumber
while only finding relief
in a dreamless sleep

I should feel blessed
nothing taken for granted
but I find myself trapped
in the thoughts in my head
Unable to see
the beauty in front
and inside of me

"Do something you love" they say,
"And you'll never work a day".
Others tell me to sacrifice,
Hate my job and hate half my life,
"Do something you're good at, though not so fond,"
"In order to have and do the things you want".
One day they will see,
All that stuff they "need",
Doesn't really matter, or isn't their soul purpose,
Look back on their life and wonder if its worth it.
Find what brings you alive, than go live it!
All you have is time, and its yours - every minute.
Theres more to life than working for some thing or some one,
When i found my passion i knew i had begun.
What am i preaching in this rhyme ?
We should be more focused on how we spend our time,
Rather than how we spend our money,
Which at first might seem funny,
But ask yourself - What am i here to do?
Work for me? Or work for you?

By Arcassin Burnham

At one point in time , I was apart of you.
I replaced my soul with a pile of wool.
Covered all over me, no you were a distant memory.
I wish i could stare down at that lake again and wonder.

I was a,
Teenage **** up, a social pariah,
I was a,
Force to be reckoned, and sensual liar,
I was a,
Little boy to you when you were a woman,
I had no,
Time to be around a girl calling me her man,
See I had,
So much nervousness, I could barely breathe,
There was too,
Much in this world to endure for me,
I ain't no,
Scared little kitten, I'm too much of a Liger,
There is no,
Time nowadays to change the past , inspire.

Is it relative
to the struggle
to live
that worked
its way
from all
the epic yesterdays,
each generation
passing dna,
each saga
set in stone
by the sages
who remember?

Is it based
on the formula
of hourly wages
times the time
we put in
constantly working
as a cog in
the machine?

Is it
a product
of relationships
from familial
to all of our
friendships?

Is it
measured
by potential
future achievements?

Or are we just
pounds of flesh
easily discarded,
meat for the factory
cannon fodder,
children to the slaughter?

I wonder,
what is the value of life?

It started as an ache,
An ache that always whispered:
"You'll never belong" but then
It became an obsession
of finding that belonging
but always knowing that I won't.

So what am I to do? A lost American
With generational displacement.
Do I keep searching
or try to find it in her (whoever she is)
or just mask it...
Until I die
Creating my own culture of melancholy

I think I’ve forgotten how to fall asleep not sobbing into a pillow. Thinking of all the things I’ve done wrong. I haven’t done anything wrong I am just destined for pain. Sometimes I believe that I have a purpose in life and that’s why I’m still here. I’m beginning to believe that my purpose in life is to be used and thrown aside. My life is not meant to change the world but to be punching bag for the world. Who could love someone like me? No one. That’s my purpose in life to show others they deserve better. I’m a reference point to there happy ever after. And maybe I’m here to die a victum of society to teach others not to be terrible people. Maybe if I just jump I’ll be a martyr for humanity.

What's the one thing you could talk about without rest?

Who's the one person that made talking effortless?

Where is the one that changed you for the better,

where is the one that made you your best?

When did it all occur, was it recently, or more in the past?

Is this one something or someone you wish you could have back?

People aren't things,
and also, they aren't chances.
They're the same solemnness
between the sonder and the glances.
We all have our thing and some of us may have more.
But I prefer the passions of the focused
for whom hearts with pulse on sleeve are wore.

I may not believe in god but i know I have a destiny, a purpose
And i may not see that purpose, i may never learn my purpose, but by the time i leave this earth i may not believe that purpose even exists

You may not know how much i appreciate being able to meet you, to talk to you, to look at you
You may not be in my life for as long as i hope
I may not seem to be one to need others to cope but i’m truly weaker than most,
You may not believe those words, but you should know i live those words

Weathered and ragged and flaking away,
Ageless, majestic, for day after day,
Haven for robins and the honeybee,
This is the bark of an old hollow tree.

A suit of cracked armor letting rain in,
Lifeless and cold, hardened like calloused skin,
Home and shelter where squirrels can flee,
This is the bark of an old hollow tree.

Vestigial barrier to bygone rings,
Same as it’s been, now for so many springs,
All that is left of its great pedigree,
This is the bark of an old hollow tree.

A trunk withered down and dead from inside,
That empty space, where owls now reside,
Inside those walls there’s still reason to be,
This is the bark of an old hollow tree.