Excerpts

by alexpenuelas94

July 26, 2013

I walk up to that shelf

With hundreds of excerpts,

That comes from the never-ending cycle

That we call “life”.

Or is life an illusion?

A thing that someone had wrote down

And was retold, which that person

Assumed to be true?

Those are questions #1-2,

Those cross my thoughts.

I then reach, seize, and pull one down

Flipping through those ink-covered pages,

Trying desperately to find an answer

That can be possibly hidden from view.

But then ink becomes letters,

And letters become words,

Which ones, then, then become sentences or phrases?

Those come from different worlds.

O, you great Musketeers,

How I long to reach that motto,

“All for one, and one for all”.

But what does this mean to me?

Should I try to help a world?

Whoms inhabitants ignores its inner problems?

And greedily consumes more and more

Of what little things this world can give?

This is question #3.

Poetry, suffering, adventures that can’t be seen

Are lurking inside everything that can be read,

But is reading a form of segregation?

Because reading doesn’t necessarily exclude

Other forms of art.

But then ink becomes letters,

And letters become words,

Which ones, then, then become sentences or phrases?

Those come from different worlds.

As the pages flip

Towards the very end,

Is this where me life

Shall tend to go?

Just some dust-covered,

Time-stained piece of “life”?

That piece didn’t satisfy me

Because only advices were given,

But when will a purpose be shown?

All of these questions must be answered!

But not by a book.

But then ink becomes letters,

And letters become words,

Which ones, then, become sentences or phrases?

Those come from different worlds!

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