I'm the poet who thinks beauty's what
everyone wants
In their lives, but that none of us
know what that means.
It lurks just past as far as we see in
our dreams.
Perhaps we are seeking, but can't find,
a balance
Between too much work, our survival,
and sounding our talent.
Perhaps we're pulled from the hunt by
the treasure,
Trading something worth chasing for
moments of pleasure,
Or perhaps things that please us are
lost in the move
From the unbeaten path to the same
routine groove.
We know where it leads, it's
convenience-inclined.
Those who set out alone have sometimes
failed to find
Their own selves, their own way, any
beauty or voice.
and the youngest among us most wait for
a choice.
To some, school's poetic, to others
it's stark.
Make your mark heavy and dark.
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