nin137

Nick's Journal
2003-02-09 05:34:52 (UTC)

Poem

Formulaic as it seems, I categorize my life into the
streams. All that I experience, all that I see, is merely
my retrospective nature looking upon me. I sit here and
muse, wondering about the worst I can lose. I can be
driven to my work by my mom, or have civilization be wiped
out through the work of "the bomb". My notions and my
apprehension, only adds to my tension. All that I wish
and all that I dream, is all that I want lying next to me,
emboding that what I seem.
That which I want, and that what I miss, is that what
keeps me from bliss. I assume and I think, all this keeps
me from falling off the brink.
Look at what we want and how much is selfish? i'll
always think of the growing fields of gold, sticking to my
consciousness as a memory does as i grow old. i no longer
capitalize, i forget what i despise. sitting at the
window of opportunity, i pray and diagnose my world with
impunity. Where do I come from and where do I go, the
answer to both of these questions i should know. my
inadequaciy at rhyming, is the curse of the business
major's timing. i sit here and type the words. soccer
ball.