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Figure This Out
I started writing this poem. I think it completely lacks direction but I'm not sure. I actually titled this Figure This Out. Here goes:
You know you can catch it
But it goes through your hands
All you can grasp is the empty air
What made you miss that grab?
Was it pure lack of luck?
That just wouldn't be fair
Who said things are ever fair?
We seem to be slaves to a higher power
Feeding us insane amounts of nothing
For our little minds to devour
Are we kept far too busy,
With only the big game
And who ever just happens
To be at the local bowling lane
There is only a certain amount
Of strange things that our mind
Can withstand before the event
That we just go insane
Maybe I just slipped
On account of the rain...
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