Thunderous Wanderer Final

I awake each day a slave to myself
Filled with questions of who I am
On the journey to wealth, fame, riches?
dreams instilled in me
Programmed from birth to be
the best at anything I set my mind to be,
yet I question, questions arise
as I sit still and question
What’s it all for? Who is it all for?
What does it all mean?
Who says I have to be anything other than me
Why is me not enough?
To set me free from this cage I have built
Why is freedom tough ?
Who pays for independent thought?
if freedom is not free, what is its price?
or being free is dumb
I find myself asleep
Stuck in a nightmare of my own design
with no time for grief no time to remorsely feel
The regret that runs through me
haunting my every dream
Bothering me endlessly
I stand on aimless feet
Stuck running and running in circles
Like a rat in a cosmic wheel
Too insignificant to matter to anything
yet everyone cares enough for me
worried I’ll never be the potential they see within
afraid to let me see the truth
Let me see the truth
Let me feel the truth
Let me know it’s true
knowing that somewhere is
My reality
superficial identity
Created insanity
Divergent tenacity
Running from A to Z
Testing everything
Searching memories
Ancient texts and diversity
Even the death of me
To set me free
asking in vanity
believing insanity
vain enough to let me be
The perfect child of vanity
Asking for clarity
To be sound enough
To be the perfect sound of everything
The golden child
chosen by the Gods
the elder sons
to run the world
with fingers on strings
jumping hurdles
pushed by forces of digits
in sequence unseen
expressing every emotion
in single note succession
making bodies move
reminded of times unwritten
passed down from the ancestral tree
through seeds of blood
married by oath
to families
sharing thoughts and dreams
of what life could be
freedom is free
painting lines on clouds
words without
sharing thoughts and crown
the game is nigh
how can I be now?
how can I recline?
using all emotions
as tools to paint the sky
leaving a mark upon my world
transforming my thoughts to solid walls
building thoughts that last forever
so all can see and say
I can do that too
I can do this today
no more delay
palm trees of coiling springs
spring forth from destiny
the crown of blasphemy
representation of identity
needing no mentioning
all recognition
a child at seventy
yet too grown for serenity
passing by through time
in solemn identity
being nothing more
than that which I was meant to be
me

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