I'll apologize upfront for my shitty poetry, but it sounded pretty good when I first wrote it, or maybe it was just the copiuos amounts of drugs I was taking...
bad poetry from a bad poet
nights, days, vacations, it all
flows together in the end
we wake up
do what we do
then return to our
places of slumber
next days are relative to their yesterdays
people come and people go
the world remains the same
yet we
fall in love with it
and we provide the
emotions and joy
the meaning we try to convey
to make the world a
“better place”
change is sometimes needed, however
by the time we
grow old it’s too late to change
and death becomes a realization
inevitable
mistakes of the past are avoided through the
wisdom
passed on to
future generations
in the end we are what we are
and all that that is is some
dust from the stars
convincing ourselves of anything greater
makes life interesting
and the
industries grow
and
philosophies change
but the
people remain themselves