As I pine and mourn
over the doomed fate of
this tragic morbid life,
I think about my worth.
I am no great dreamer
or a visionary that
has added much to our
society.

I am no more important
as the ant the dwells
and mines under the sweet
dark brown earth below.
My worth is nothing
compared to the flawless
gems that sprout on
the earthen bed.

I am nothing and yet
my worth is less measured
then any who can come
near my foul presence.
I am not worth a pieces
of eight nor the flavored
gold coins of Spain.

My worth is that of
bitter sweet smells of
many men and women's
contempt for existance.
I am the frustration of
poets gone wrong,
and lovers deceit.

I am nothing to you
nor will I ever be anything.
The wind escapes me as
I realize that my existance
has no meaning and thus
the world is nothing to me.

Food and water have little
value only to sustain my
empty body in it's hour of need.
My soul begs for something,
but I do not know what it is.
And I run through my mind
as my body burns for release.
And my heart begs to be light
as a feather but is weighed by
burdens.

I am a life time away in my
own torment called existance.

10/08/2003

Posted on 10/08/2003
Copyright © 2024 Christopher Shin