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I find it interesting that everyone has their own lives. They have their own problems, things waiting for them at home, their own people who care about them. But everyone is all around you, doing their own thing. You'll always pass by people but you'll never have any significance to any of them. I thought that'd be a good basis for a poem.


Submitted:Mar 26, 2013    Reads: 19    Comments: 3    Likes: 3   


Running to trains,

cars, and buses.

Carrying coffee, tea, late end-of-a-meeting

breakfast.

Rushing to appointments, figures

brushing past your shoulder.

Always on the move, always

buzzing with life.

Always on to the next day, always,

continuing their lives.

Never noticing you, not even a glance.

All these people, picking up dinner,

heading to an event, joining family, preparing for a big

orientation, living.

They are always lliving.

While you're apart of the background.

Everyone doing their own thing, rushing, passing by you.

Overlook you, as they always do.

Who are you?





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