Greatness is everyone’s default

A world where all hope is filled in treasure cans

When attacked by reality

We end up doing what we can


A generation that talks and forgets to ponder

When the one who waxes candles at night rises

We stare in awe, filled with supernatural exultation

And proclaim; ha, the fingers are really unequal

Excuses, the crying infant of the man who fails to prepare

Who dreams the day away and sleeps away the night

Eats up every bit he finds so long it is filling

Indulges every emotion, every motion, every notion

Leaving his mind empty and vague

Nature and nurture, his best clues

The man who continually groans

His glorious “if onlys”

A prisoner of birth, a refugee in his soul

Hypnotized like trees by the weathers of life

Shading and springing as time demands

Who wants for nothing but lacks in everything

Who is this man?

Not me, not me, is what you’ll say

Where are you now?

Start thinking

All credits to Fiona Adams


5 thoughts on “STOP TALKING

  1. People were in a state of panic.
    Rather lavishly indulge they in comic,
    Optimistic never they were,
    High hopes were not their,
    Pessimism pervades everywhere.

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