We, the mediocre poets
Always hanging by the hem of a poem
Not quite finding the magical words
That'd prick your soul, trick your soul
We twist our meaning to your rhyme
We, the average philosophers
Forever lurking at the edge of truth
Not quite summoning the courage
To truly embrace what we know
To truly know what we have embraced
We, the half-way rebels
Standing for long with angst in our songs
Not quite unleashed, unsheathed
Squatted upon our ivory towers
With clenched fists and rectum, and eunuch rage
We, the settled down nomads
With ancient wanderlust on our breath
That reeks of moss upon rolling stones
Sitting aside our bundled belongings
Disintegrating within our make-shift abodes
Fence sitters forevermore
Siding with war, but longing for peace
Waiting for madmen and messiahs
To set us free, and let us be
Not my composition, but very close to my thoughts..don't know who wrote this, don't remmeber how I laid my hands on it....
Enjoy
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