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Meaningless | A Poem by Chris Way

Can I squeeze the words out that describe what I feel
The sounds heard and vocabulary real
Is it not a struggle to pour myself out
Like a fluid I fill my vessel without a doubt
The noises made have to be trained to mean
Filling the paper for others to have seen
So in my shop I sit quietly waiting
What to do and where to go is what I’m debating
The world is open and free for me to adventure in
Filled with fires and drinking and all the deadly sins
The sun is setting for the night to begin
And as it does my face grows a grin
My demons are waiting for my arrival
I’ll be alone and hardly recognizable
I’ll be covered in the ash that was left from being burned
This whole lifetime is something to be learned
The fires weren’t bad and created a new
The morphing of the molecules given new views
Now the cycle is dormant waiting to start again
These words are meaningless and this is the end

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