Your Life

An illusory window in the mind,

The boundary ‘twixt the masses and oneself;

A line that many try too hard to cross

And end up casting curses at the wind.

Are you a special one?

Why do you look so high?

Is there some doubt within your soul

That you must rectify?

You worry overmuch –

Or do you play to lose?

Time will not stop – you will get naught

If that is what you choose.

Whether or not you are some special thing

You always have a special song to sing;

Follow your voice through plain or mountain pass,

For life is yours up ‘til the very last.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I was thinking about all the things I did inside my own head that were wrong when I wrote this... the idea was that it would apply to everyone.

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annonnymousee's picture

umm... yea, theres a separation between others and yourself. in my case its a few miles of landmines, some barbed wire, a few hundred bazooka toting soldiers and a five foot thick steel door secured with an eye scanner, fingerprint analyzer, and voice detector. it locked me out when i had a cold, a burst blood vessel in my eye, and when i burned my finger though...

anyway, i have some problems with this poem...
"follow your voice" - yea, i can run at the speed of sound!! *rolls eyes*
"you always have a special song to sing" - and that DOESNT mean anyone wants to hear it.

Roy McClanahan's picture

Sup intersected subjective galilean reference frames (seriously). I liked it, because it reminded me of how one can't transcend their very being to that that has no tinting windows. Coolness, sir.