Written to collectively promote and support individuals and their skills despite their destiny which plays. It expresses the melancholy and pain when you write not to impress but to express. The individual piece of creation of one's own feels a burden when compared and disclosed. However, it gives a turn of heads and minds when you write to exist, be it in this century or any other, where destiny takes shakes hands and plays with the rhythmic beat. It stretches it's arms until it reaches but alas doesn't confirms will you be there to even peak? Or Will you be the search and the missing piece waiting to flare your own writing?
I just
wanted to be heard
Not
remembered
I bleed
with my art and passion
Just to
let them know I exist
I want
to leave my marks on land
So that
when someone shuffles the deepen sand
They
will remember me with my work of hand
I know
it's not that big or grand
Out
when the wind blows
Hoping
the time slows
All the
paths my life rows
It remains as my memory flows
Covered
up in the graveyard
Remains
all the death cards
The
floriculture began to grow
After
the demise works lays low
Just
the thought everyone around have /had the skill
Shouldn’t
have let me down when my arts fill
I
should have remembered out there are people who would hear
Be it
now, another century or decades and I shouldn’t have fear
Text: A poem about creative individuals
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