I wrote this yesterday morning. For some reason I was quite pleased I had written anything! I thought I would post it so you would know how I spent part of my morning:
We’re all writers penning on Time’s paper
The incremental moments of our lives
Sculpting with water like luckless shapers
The haphazard follies for which fame strives;
To generate a generation’s name
To be remembered for remembrance sake
And paperclip existence to the game
Of all things human and utterly fake.
I only pretend to breathe, my lungs are
Restricted by the automation in
Nature that dictates survival is far
More important than zetetical spin.
We give our DNA away with ease,
I wish wisdom were as easy to freeze.