Dear Sir,
This world, is it mine? To do as I must, or as I will?
Then why, Sir, won't it bend?
This mind, fractures at discrepancy, altered as I may?
It won't bend, sir, it wont!
Why Sir, must I bend
To make the echoes roll.
In this world, my own, I'm the one to change, to form
To make myself new again and see
the world a different way.
I think I understand, Sir.
I'm closer than I was before.
Thank you for your time, Sir
Sincerely,
Prodigal
No comments:
Post a Comment