Poetry

The Mind and It's Recreation of Forgotten Dreams

written by: rstephens93

I can't help feeling unsure
And I can't help feeling unprepared
Confident-less and strange

Cause I never really feel absolution
Lost and curious, and slightly scared
As everything morphs, Do we really change?




Raise the glass to your selfless praise
Make the toast to your selfish humbleness
When confusion, thin as glass and a fright for these days
A comfort for insecurity and a lack for that of loneliness


Do we stay the same when hope loses our mind?
Or do we recreate and leave all the rest behind?
Cause my sleeve is snagged on what won't and won't will
With a chin held down, rested on the window sill



Does the mind lose it's touch with collective photographs
Or does it rewind into what it failed to remember lost in conspicuous paragraphs?
Does it string it up and let it dry out and wait for it in time?
Or does it toss it out and bring in the new, an innocent crime?



But what do I know?
When I'm sold for the excess
What do I know?