The Same

Lacy windows,
And yes there are the same reflections of a million dancing leaves.
So walk into my kitchen,
The same blue walls.
Through my windows,
If you were to look out,
You'd see the same sky,
Same sun,
That will someday turn to night.
In fact,
I'll look down at myself.
Skinny legs,
Bony joints,
Pale skin,
My singing voice.
It really is all the same.
Last night’s battles and all this change,
Waged war will be just another game,
If I'm still here and doing what is right then no loss should pull me from being alive.
I stood on a mountain and I shouted all this out.
I'm a poet,
A writer,
I'm nobody else's.
I looked at my hands,
The little things,
There were some scars,
But nothing that managed to change me.





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