The depth of unknown possibilities,
of knowledge left,
discarded to the days of old.
We are stuck in the present.
Unwary of the past.
Unconcerned with the future.
And yet our present is filled with frivolous activities, mind-numbing tasks, distraction and escape.
We make nothing of the time we are given,
and only later do we complain to the starkness of reality.

A Song for All

I wrote a song to a dead man,
and oh did he listen.
I poured my heart out to him,
lines and lines of verse,
and oh how poignant.

I wrote a song to a dead man,
and oh how he heard my dreams and cries.
It was all I could think of now,
how much of my soul and being I had offered him,
and oh how unnerving,

When I found that I was the dead man.
And oh how did I not hear?
What I truly wanted?
Where were the verses now?
When all I found,
were the lies,
of a dead man.

No Classes

I went to class,
and found no one there,
the seats were empty,
and I was there.

I looked around,
a barren scene,
I left and decided,
to go elsewhere.

Along the way,
I found a girl,
whose puzzled look,
did match my own.

So together we,
adventured alone,
to the top of Summit Peak,
for a better look.

Upon the top,
a peaceful breeze,
but to our dismay,
nothing to see.

And without a notice,
I slipped and fell,
and down the mountain,
did I go.

I reached a patch,
of icy land,
and quickly found,
it shattered then.

And so it began,
the nearing end,
as I sank and drowned,
in winter sand.

Stories to Tell

I cried upon a perfect day,
For it was not all that I wanted,
Everything was perfect,
Yet it was not all that I wanted,
There was nothing wrong,
And that was all that I wanted.

The pain, the struggle, the adventure,
the tales of heroes and champions.
Where was my story?

I peered out the window,
a vast expanse of potential,
of trials to be fought, love to be found,
I wanted it all,
And I waited.