I wrote this poem when I was looking for some saction.
“luck”
in preperation for your departure,
i prepared for your arrival
at a place different from my own,
a home different from my home,
an unknown to what I know.
they give you the dough;
you do the rest,
you ace the test,
you were the best.
but now you’re the same to them
as all of your friends:
a number, a figure,
a counter of your soul.
nothing to make of it
but what they tell you.
i wish you knew
exactly what i do.
Music of the moment:
You Don’t Love Me
The Allman Brothers Band