Month: December 2019

Why does the sea call me

like the rolling tide

that pulls me in?

Why does the tide need me 

like thunder needs lightning

to create the perfect storm?

Why does the storm intrigue me 

like a million little dots in a

collage of abstract art?

I am the sea.

I am the tide.

I am the thunder.

I am the lightning.

I am the perfect storm.

And I am a piece of abstract 

art. 
When we fade into the darkness, who remembers us? 
Are we nothing more than the dust we return to when our time is up?
I remember when I was young, I dreamed about fame. 
I always wanted the whole world to know my name. 
Now, my dreams, my visions, my colors are tame.
I think about a legacy, and these words come to mind:

                                           "Legacy. What is a legacy? 
 It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see."

If this is all I am,
If I'm meant to be a lamb among wolves,
then I shall turn these wolves into sheep.

This poem is inspired by Hamilton, specifically this quote.

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"Lose yourself in the art of selflessness," they say.

Lose yourself in the art of forgetting yourself by dedicating your heart to the meek, the poor, the hungry, the homeless, the thirsty, the naked, and the oppressed, for what is better than a life of poverty and self-service?

No personality. No flavor. Just gray.

Selfless, abnegation gray.