Pt. 2

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  • Philosophy

    Pt. 2

    The world is so big, and I've lost so much hope,
    Being just a small creature living under the microscope,
    Like I'm being watching by a hundred million eyes,
    The smile I wear is merely a disguise,
    To hide behind tears dripping from my eyes,
    Like my story was from a book that everybody knew,
    Don't worry about what everybody do,
    Only worry about a few,
    Easier said than done when I'm concerned with one,
    Scared to death like lookin down the barrel of a gun,
    Not thinking about taking my last breath,
    But being taken too early right from under my nest,
    Under my chest where my heart can not rest,
    Under too much stress to be cleanin up my mess,
    It's become so distant,
    Everything that I've wanted disappeared in an instant,
    So now my eyes are wide shut,
    Like alcohol in a cut I'm burning in a rut,
    Days of knowledge ancient like my name is king tut,
    This glass wall that I call my soul,
    Filled with dead weight and gone like a black hole,
    Something that nobody ever stole,
    It left on its own like it learned how to crawl,
    Then I realize it wasn't ever mine at all,
    Time to stall as I climb and fall,
    My mind crumbles like a wall and I feel so small,
    I was told it's better kept away
    Instead of reaching an arms length away,
    But the heat is unbearable and melts the day,
    I melt away yet I felt I should say,
    I'm not done by far anyway,
    I can make up miles in a car anyday
    But would it be worth the pain that I pay,
    The walls are closing in and the ceiling is gone,
    Like I gotta jump this hurdle but I waited too long,
    My run wasn't fast enough
    And my strength wasn't tough,
    But as the Devil offered his handshake I called his bluff,
    Like I could sell my soul to him but the price is too cheap,
    This mountain is too steep but it's too late to fall asleep,
    So I blink and catch up to realize that I messed up,
    Heavens door turned out to be Hells Gate,
    Hells kitchen is too hot and I'm not a worm like fish bait,
    So I tackle the wait and lift it off like a weight,
    I begin to steer straight and crash through his Gate,
    And as I anticipate how I'm about to feel great,
    I realize that I wasn't even awake....

    Too be continued.

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    Poetry is finer and more philosophical than history; for poetry expresses the universal, and history only the particular.

    Aristotle (384 BC-322 BC) Greek philosopher.

    Onest’s Poems (22)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    Stranger Chapter 2 0
    Stranger Chapter 1 0
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    Boogeyman 0
    The Escape PT1 0
    Disconnected 0
    Pt. 2 0
    Questionable PT. 1 0
    No title 0
    Introduction 0
    different 0
    Welcome to Hell 1
    Convinced 0
    without me 0
    drivin 0
    Dion 0
    Drinkin 1
    Brother 0
    Bye 0
    Exist 0
    No Title 0
    Rise 0