Hi. I will Be Compiling My Poetry here becuase apparently that’s what everyone else does, and hey, better here than sitting on my hard-drive unread and unappreciated.


I look around me and I see such passion.
Others do the things I do
And speak of them as some fantastical thing.
But when I do them, It feels so empty, as if I live in another world.
Sometimes I just wish I could understand
To feel such wonder and passion
But I see things differently
They say one thing was amazing
But another was terrible
and yet they are not that different to me
So I sit from afar
watching them enjoy their worldly things
while I sigh, for these things mean nothing to me

I don’t belong here.
I want to go home.
Where is home?
Not the dwelling that I reside in.
A place where I feel Like I belong.

With A fond Smile you remember, Those days when the stars were younger, and the world was untainted with the bitter taste of age.
But as you recall those days, It dawns upon you that it they feel so far away, like something is missing, like it happened an eternity ago.
So distant, nothing more than an echo.
You can see it, but something is missing, but what you do not know.
Not that it matters, for everything has moved on.
The places you knew have gone, replaced by something alien that you used to know.
Everything is different, and yet the same.
Some Desperately cling to the past, failing to realise that there is nothing to hold on to.
Those days are forever gone, but you go on.
You walk into the sunset, leaving the past behind.
The Sands of time, forever shifting, carried by the waters of fate.
But it is for the best, for otherwise things would become stale.


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