Note

Do you want to be special?

Do you want to cut the lies

Out of your soul?

Do you want to run to Colombia

And join the Peace Corps

Or travel the world penning poems

For the poor? The world is suffering,

Bartering for survival, and look at you,

Upper middle class suburban boy,

Toying with fear of your own soul.

Who are you, traveler, but a brief whisper

Passed between angels in pity?

“He could’ve been great.

He could’ve lit the snow on fire

With a blink. Instead, he chose

To be lesser than himself—

A golden book no one reads…”