I used to be convinced,
That my blood is pumping,
To my soul,
And never would I doubt,
My own convictions,
Nor question,
That I am the one in control,
Many days have passed through,
And though most ideas,
Have been tested,
And found True,
They have never gotten me,
What I have dreamed,
Nor even brought about,
More than a glimmer of Life,
But still, I must not
give up,
Rather I must ask,
For whom it toils,
This blood of mine...
It may be for this mechanism for society,
But it is I that am apart of it,
Feeding off of it,
Using it to survive,
But what kind of control does it take,
To break away without death,
Would I have to give up my own
personal morals,
Steal to eat,
And beg to create,
This still does not seem
to be quite right.
Oh, so I shall dream,
And perhaps,
Someday...
I'll know something worth while.