A poem about the fact that as "A child of a lesser god and the god of small things" I have come to the viable age and stage where dreams die and reel/real life takes over, I am now acquainted with the utter boredom and vaguely dissatisfying nature of life!!!
and now the poem:
Dying...
...And now Mr. Dylan,
I know what you mean when you say,
Mama take this badge offa me,
Put my guns into the ground,
'Cause I'm knocking on heaven's door.
I've reached my juvenile end,
That point at which dreams die,
And reality sets in,
Where fantasy vanishes,
And rigors of routine set in.
I've flirted with success,
Only to never be best,
Condemn to rot,
With my first glimpses...
Of the vaguely dissatisfying nature of life.
Yannick Nesta Pessoa
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