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Dead Microphone

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The Reluctant Self

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Trotsky

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There is a point of no return
That point isn’t clearly marked
Some stray dogs keep watch nearby
But don’t count on them to bark
And let you know to watch your step
They have their own concerns
This place has been their homestead
So long as the sun has burned

On which side are we standing?
Is there no one who can tell?
Denied are all the wishes
Of the ones who dug the wells
Scarce sustenance is offered
By the crescent, cross, and wheel
The fittest ones among us
Still await a chance to heal

And I am the reluctant self
Confined to the first person view
I would like to be something else
Not someone else, but something new
Stranger than animal, alien, android
A difficult thing to conceive
Something unmoored, entirely free
Or merely a grain through a cosmic sieve

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JessiePhoenix

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Really beautiful piece,  I often feel like I'm meant to be something...more. I'm not sure what that means I just know I'm meant for more than this. I really related to this write. 

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