But then we cannot live so much,
These feelings are all too much,
My art is too few and so little,
The taste of paint is all too bitter,
The sound of strokes does make me shriek,
The sound of silence does make me think,
Songs long ago I heard now grew faint,
Songs long I sang now are more a faint,
I never sang; only my head would race,
I never did; all was but still in face,
No emotions; no thoughts; and no desires,
No motion; no notions; nor none to aspire,
At last I see a two walking down concrete,
I wish my life were just like concrete,
But as a sponge I gather data absorbed,
And by night I am the data thus absorbed,
A single sound that calls my name to task,
Is the single direction I hear to task I last.

Category:
Life, Poetry, Works
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