Nineteen Years

Why were we placed on this strange blue planet?
We’re given one life, and we’re told to plan it

So we spend our todays preparing for tomorrows
But often, we neglect our present sorrows

I had to break out of this repetitive mold
My younger self was confined and needed to unfold

Untouched pages awaited my hands
Worlds abandoned, I returned to those lands

How beautifully unusual that our early selves
Understood some truths we have since shelved

The world taught us to be more practical
Stop being fictional, be more factual

But the world was unaware of its own horizons
The storytellers and artists slowly rising

An artist has more impact than a politician
So like laws, I write my stories with precision

Moments full of fountains, trees, mountains, breeze
I’ve been keeping count of these

I’ve been searching for who I’m bound to be
Quite simply, all I’ve found is me

This Earth and the life therein are wonderful and dark
I ponder every day about my own story arc

I look at what I wrote last year, the differences are stark
I hope I touched the world just enough to leave a mark

I spent so long debating the meaning of my art
Ironically, I had that answer from the very start

We will not know our purpose ‘til after we depart
So rather than some calling, I answer to my heart

Our words and choices in this life could echo forever
But we have no way of telling when eternity is severed

So let’s just celebrate the stories we’ve been given
Perhaps the reason we live is to decide why we are living

I choose to turn every tomorrow into today
I can find my way even when led astray

I choose to tell stories with a fierce persistence
While I absorb the wonders of existence

What’s been made quite clear through the days and years,
Through waves of tears and displays of fears

Is that we know so little, but we feel so much
Life is but a mystery, let’s live it as such

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