Untitled...

~

A thousand eyes must make them wise...
to understand their craft's demise,
and, still, with broken hearts to mend,
to build their homes back up again.
What vision that we all must lack.
Must understanding be only white and black?
A timeless art so rarely seen
destroyed souly for petty means.
How is it that we failed to see
how eight implies infinity?
A flooded spout did not defeat
A life proceeding bittersweet.
Yet, we, when faced with curves and bends
Insist on calling aims to end.
Does not our art begun and left to waste
Leave you regretful and disgraced?
What we could learn from things so small,
is that we can see the world and all
the things we left so long ignored...
restore those that need be restored.
Though failure is unkind, impending,
It does not imply a bitter ending
to ideas that require drive to make.
You need only to fix a small mistake.

A being small and brushed aside
left unseen yet bona fide
in spirit, drive and mystery
...the most unlikely hero in history.

~


FEEDBACK? Do you understand it? Maybe it doesn't make sense. I don't really know how the world sees it because I am the mind behind the madness.

I could tell you exactly what this poem means, but what would be the fun in that? Analyze it, post your analyzation, and we'll discuss it. Maybe I'll tell you exactly what I was thinking if you're intested enough. :-)