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Who am I?
What is this thing?
Flesh and bone moving by
Some unseen force,
But who is pulling the strings?
Who am I?
Where is this place?
A brightly lit stage so the
Observers can witness my despair?
But their faces remain in darkness.
Who am I?
I call myself a dreamer,
But recent nights leave me sleepless.
A speaker was my preferred title,
But I choke when I have something to say.
Who am I?
I vaguely remember a name,
Consisting of meaningless squiggles,
And sounds that taste strange.
Does my own tongue not know me?
Who am I?
Or perhaps, "what" am I?
For there is no friendly tone to
Assure me that I am human.
I am forced to beg the silence.
What am I?
My memory refuses to obey me,
Avoiding the whip of my desperation,
I attempt to remind it that
I am its true master.
Who am I?
Who am I?
Who am I?
WHO... am I?
What's this?!
A great flood of images swamp my brain,
My memory is unable to build an ark
In time to avoid the sudden recollections.
Children, I see laughing children!
But one of them looks all too familiar...
A mirror! Get me a mirror!
Those brown eyes, that uncontrollable hair,
That wide grin of merriment,
Impossible, that is me!
Savior of my being, I beg you,
I need my name!
Wait, the children are talking to me...
Brian! They called me Brian!
I now have a name!
My own property,
My own identity!
I am Portuguese,
I write poetry,
And now I know,
I stand here before my friends,
Closer to me than family,
Laughter is our blood bond,
Screw DNA, who needs science?
I want them to know how
Hard I try to make them smile.
They are the ones who remind me
That I am human.
Yes, this is my human hand!
Behold, someday these digits will someday
Creat the composition that will blow your minds,
Because I am a dreamer,
Because I am a speaker,
And I
Will not die
Forgotten!
- by Poetic Progression |
- Poetry And Lyrics
- | Submitted on 01/11/2010 |
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- Title: Forgotten
- Artist: Poetic Progression
- Description: For a while I've been trying to figure out how to relate to people my desire to leave a mark in thise world. I figured the best way to present this on stage(this is, after all, spoken word) would to "forget" myself, only to suddenly have everything come back to me. I recall the things that matter most, ending with my greatest ambition and my refusal to die forgotten. In the first stanza, I am referring to my own hand.
- Date: 01/11/2010
- Tags: forgotten identity dream
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