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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

This will be my book of poems. I will slowly compile my favorite rhymes and schemes here.



Life through love.

Yet, when push comes to shove

Our presence flies like a dove

Falls off like a glove.

For to live is to love

Yet, what shall I choose to be neglectful of

At the end of the day I look above.

At the end of the day

I see the spiteful way

The truth of what makes you afraid



The days sway and bend like tall trees in the wind

The hours dwindle to minutes and stretch to seconds

The time we thrive off of tricks us to thinking that we too can live forever

But, sometimes we slip into a second that seems to be everlasting

That second draws itself into endless hypnosis

Drawing us deeper and deeper into the reality that,

Just like every second. It must come to a grim end

And along we go, swaying like the trees in the wind

Trying to find yet another

Endless tick in time.

There are things as people we will never understand or have the opportunity to experience. We look at ourselves in a reflection or a mirror and we see, "me", but that, "me", is clouded in a pre-concieved bais we have of ourselves. Imagine seeing yourself as a blank slate in the eyes of another. Seeing yourself as raw as can be must simply be, spectacular. Say you're walking down the street and see somone on the other side. They are matching your pace, your stride, and your posture. Yet, as you two are suspended in a perfect reflection you must come to this simple realization. They don't see what you see. Green may look like this to you, it may look like that to them, and neither know the wiser. What I'm getting at is, we will never be able to see the world we interact with through anyone else's eyes, except ours. In other words, our lives are extremely fragile. We are these very unique individuals that have the gift to talk and even love. We build this giant network of relationships, yet we never leave the comfort of our own "self". Being comfortable with one's self is extremely important. People spend days filling the hours they have looking at, and interacting, with as many people as possible. They may not be dependant on praise and attention, but they crave the distraction of the interactions of others. They are afraid of themselves. If one cannot find comfort inside one's self then what happens when others leave? 
When you die the only thing that continues on is your, "self".
So if one cannot take the time to find solitude in themselves in this lifetime, how can one find comfort in the next?

Submitted: November 14, 2021

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