The Messenger

I travel down this road with no definite end,

Where intersecting streets and pathways blend

To create a connected community of dreams

Whose homes are filled with lights that gleam

To signify that their goals and endeavors are alive,

And, in the darkest of times, continue to thrive.


Flanked by these structures of grandeur, my eyes meet

With a facility designed for the academic elite.

The hierarchy of its levels

Ensures that inhabitants are unable to revel

In a room in which their mind's comprehension has swelled

Too greatly for the place in which they currently dwell.


The assortment of plants within the estate's garden

Is for far more than simply pleasant aesthetics;

The positioning of the floral wonders are hardened

By the strict application of metrics.


The reduction of the grass to its least common factor

Gives the lawn its excellent presentation,

And provides the program's enactor

With an enhanced orientation.


Down the street, as I gaze to my right,

I witness the staggering composition of a woman who writes

Motivational literature filled with a glory

That decorates a home of many stories.


The foundation upon which she builds these powerful tales

Heavily consists of concepts and ideals

That unmask the stench of a world that's incredibly stale,

And illustrate struggles both common and real.


To gaze upon her residence is to merely experience exposition

To reflections of her life's struggles, which inspired her life's mission

To urge the guests of her dwelling to undergo a rising action

To a climax that will reap nothing less than satisfaction.


While this pursuit of purpose is a sharp incline

Filled with triumph, tragedy, and trying times,

These struggles embody the earth that we mine

To uncover a precious jewel that shines

With a brilliance that serves to define

An appointed role for an appointed time.


And where exactly is my place

In this brief and timed race

Of people who rush to find their identity

Lest they fail to save face?


I'm the one who, through my creative propaganda

Triggers an explosive extravaganza

Of people who have obtained a new understanding

Of the power of their talents in a society demanding

The introduction of not only something that is new

but inventions innovative, vocal, and true.


It is when I am sending messages that are relevant

That I am truly in my element.

I love to make people reconsider

This existence that they believe they have figured.


As I traverse through mazes of avenues,

I don't hesitate for a second to spread breaking news

That penetrates the atmosphere of the domains of the influential,

Using artistic expression to stress how essential

It is to always be willing to explore

Beyond what's typically called "success" and ask, "What more?"


Being successful transcends far beyond financial prosperity,

Or even expressing one's care for giving back to the world with clarity

It is constantly finding new ways to instill aspiring minds

With a burning desire to leave behind

All that constitutes their "native knowledge,"

And embrace the foreign regions that can conceive a college.


While I do not undermine the lessons this world has to teach,

I can't ignore hte infinite number of destinations I can reach

When I effectively apply my God-given comprehension

To a generation in need of God-given intervention.


You can call me a messenger, the world's paper boy, or just plain ambitious,

But I find it highly auspicious

That we can guide one another to new frontiers

By becoming bold pioneers

Of new methods of thinking

That get the gears of creative minds clinking.


This kind of domino-like succession

Is why I uphold my "job" as the best of professions.





The Kronikler

This is a poem in which I express my idea of a "dream job."

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