Do you know the active pain,
the conscious realization of being
Trapped by our own want for gain,
we are caught in ambition, feeling
when love is all around us. We ignore
the embrace of the wind, the rain,
Worse, when we deny our chore
to contribute; instead we complain.
this engulfing sense of expectation.
This demand for recognition without
Offer up yourself with conviction
that, someday, the world throughout,
will congratulate you, bow before you
in honor and respect, for being yourself.
beyond your years, push outward to
the endless stars, not lay dormant on the shelf.
I have no freakin’ idea for this. It started as a, “I can’t find my muse,” kind of poem, but I hate the word… “Muse.” People use it way too often in the poetry scene, so I thought I’d go a different route, and somehow this came out of it. Been trying to get out of my free-form comfort zone too, so trying to rhyme, which I suck at. Any feedback is appreciated!