Tale Told By An Idiot
What is this life for
If I who sit on this heavenly choir
Cannot sing a song;
If I whose brother composes
Ballads of love and war
Struggle with language's subtle
Nuances.
What is this life for,
I sigh as I stare at the door,
I admit I lied before:
I can sing a song
But so can my brother
And mother
And others . . .
We all overflow with sound and fury.
They told me I have talent
But what is talent
When the whole world has it?
It signifies nothing!
They say I am out of many one
But I am one out of many.
This poem is about:
Me
Our world
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