Tale Told By An Idiot

What is this life for

If I who sit on this heavenly choir

Cannot sing a song; 

If I whose brother composes

Ballads of love and war

Struggle with language's subtle

Nuances.

What is this life for,

I sigh as I stare at the door,

I admit I lied before:

I can sing a song

But so can my brother

And mother

And others . . .

We all overflow with sound and fury.

They told me I have talent

But what is talent

When the whole world has it?

It signifies nothing!

They say I am out of many one

But I am one out of many.