Giving titles to your poems is like telling a child to stop playing
there it is again, those clouds, that sunthe purples, oranges, and yellows
reflection of that magical orb, casting the spell
I get to see it all, as we roll on, absorb the richness so I may use it to continue a dream
see my future, as a reflection of the beauty that is emitted everyday
in this world
yet, consequently, this color is only vicarious
for you see I am a passenger
that right seat is so familiar, that tan on my same side makes it so evident
that I am not in control, that I get to see only what is directed from the conductor
I wish to have my eyes be the result of my power
the gateway opened by my own ambition
Whoever made this world the goldmine it has been is a masterpiece himself
but that gift comes with a price, responsibility
Poetry by Zack Wellington
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Written on 2010-08-13 at 20:51
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