KingBase

The Unoriginal

Seventeen Year Old, Lost.






It’s hard to be what no man has before,
Smart or dumb, tall or short, fat or thin.
It has all been done before, is anything under the heavens original?
The heavens?... maybe.

Everyone has lived, some longer than others.
Most have died, All will.
At Least that is certain.
The alive dead, The pure corrupted, the jailed free.
Subversion of status is almost a compliance to fate.

Change is certain,
Whether through revolution or innovation.
Change is as certain as death.
Freedom to change is sparse.
What gives those who orchestrate change worthy?
Belief? Race? Age? Status?

I believe it's within,
Myself.
I am change itself.
Maybe i am a man who will do as no one has before,
Or maybe i'm just another man to have thought of this freedom,
And failed.

© Poetry.com