A man split in half,
Searching for the arc,
That will tell him what to do.
Jonze, Ma, or Mr. Brian May,
Manhattan, Tokyo or maybe L.A.
This little boy has lost a little sight,
Maybe of the upcoming and unfolding plight.
He knows little of the situation,
What will affect his future vocation?
Will he fly or will he die,
Maybe he'll just end up lying in the sty.
I personally hate this poem, it's a little pretentious, obviously shaped around the rhymes and has little meaning and it's all mine. I don't whether it was intentional on my part to make a meaningless poem, but at any rate, it seems flat. Outside looking in, I'd say I was blabbing about having high hopes for the future but not having a clue how to get there. Or it's meaningless.
