We are part of a fraction in the world
All trying to find our place
Floating like the air around us
But the only difference is visibility and how we make used of it.
What is our piece of the world
What are we carving out for ourselves to live in
The journey there is not easy
The journey there is not always found
But if it ever is,
Then grab hold and never let go
No matter how hopeless it feels in the moment
Now isn't that easier said than done
I myself cannot count on one hand the amount of things I stopped
All for reasons of lacking motivation or feeling insecure
Have not felt that what I am doing is enough to mean something

We are part of a fraction of the world
One that is made up of many types of people
Some we can understand
Some we cannot
But we are on the same planet
All trying to pave a way in the world
All finding the stepping stones to it
Even if it means losing things along the way
Even if it means losing ourselves for a brief moment
But there is a time
When we are all alone
Left with our thoughts
Left with the memories
Where we reflect
Where we are reminded
Where we are haunted
Where we see what we had
Where we see what we should hold onto

As I watch the wind blow in another day,
Many dreams will fade from yesterday,
The sun will rise again, a new day will begin,
I'm still searching.

We often think, our plans are carved in stone,
Then we look around and were all alone,
Was it wasted time, did we learn in our mind,
Were back to searching.

Searching for the reason, why I am here,
Am I cold, or am I getting close or near,
I will search until the end, some thoughts,
I will stretch and bend, I just know this life, is real,
And  not a game of pretend.

Your ticket will expire, at the end of your stay,
You can't renew it, there is no way,
So make good use of your life, this time,
Find answers for all the questions, within your mind,
Just keep searching.    


                         The original: Tom Maxwell  C  10/ 06/ 05 AD

A lost soul with his book left wide open
Riddled with anxiety but still outspoken
Hard to understand while full of emotion
In search of finding lasting devotion

Who am I,
But the meaningless purpose, set out
To echoes of their tears— dancing their fires
upon each tongue. Am I wrong wanting not,
to be as equal to parentages?

What does it mean to be free; to be not
Set to be, or set free in a world, only not to be
Anything it recognizes— for the freer person in
this world, are only but the dead. So must I,
sacrifice my life, to then feel alive?

My time each day, is all amalgamation of
Escapeless breath. Oh, isn’t it such a waste to
Be young; for the subtle interest of being ill trained
By the perception of the Owed?

For our youth is truly a debt to those
who train us to be better—
But it’s a lesson not meant to be free,
for when you meet their age, you like them,
feel something is owed.

“Oh, where is the time, I had invested in you,
The wisdom and guidance my
hand laid upon your head?
For from the full of my flesh, I raised you up,
From being a fool. I had decided your
purpose from what I had seen fit,”

Enough then said; to ask of you again,
who am I, who am I then?

i sit on the bench
and watch him roam
free to do as he pleases
within the confines of
our fenced sanctuary
that four-legged build up
of energy and excitement
taken by a sudden burst
sniffing at the long grass
as he bounds excitedly
up down around and back
only to stop abruptly
freezing in a Pointer's stalk
until the cause of rustling
in the undergrowth
reveals itself and takes flight
leaving him to snuffle
the scents that remain
exploring deeper
he pauses and looks back
checking i am still here
making sure i know
i am not forgotten

it comes and
goes,
one way or
another,
from high to
low.

Life tests you in ways unimaginable
to one whom has never lived
outside the palace of shimmering glass,
unclothed in mist-soft silks,
unwarmed by gourmet delights.

unfathomable.

those highs and lows
of life.

to all but they whom have struggled
to find warmth,
to quench thirst,
to fill heart and belly.

incomprehensible.