I walk about and gaze at those around me,

Full of potential, but lacking in originality.

Each emotion and concept they possess,

Was someone Else's first with which they were blessed.

The absurdity of it all is really quite striking,

That every person holds an enormous capacity,

But instead neglects that and stays the normal variety.

Sure they are unique and stunning new blends,

But that is where all the differences end.

We all are made of the same sort of things,

Emotions, ideas, concepts, and dreams,

Yet each one is nothing, but a reflection of others,

devoid of life, devoid of colors.

  • Author: anima aurea (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: January 12th, 2019 00:07
  • Category: Reflection
  • Views: 16


  • sylviasearcher

    My colour today is gray, but thanks for giving me a brief glimpse of a rainbow in your poem

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