The Inconspicuous Spiral of the ticking tocking time bomb.
The world is quite harsh, in all things in place,
An Arabic group of terror, who ‘do it for grace’.
Such awful events, the negativity they spread,
Weighs the good vibes beneath the course rough waves,
With hearts full of lead, it had to be said.
The trees are trying their best to stand tall,
Every new bud they grow, has a tendency to fall,
The colors are blank, like the pages of my mind,
Every sharp corner turn, I know not what I will find.
What darkness will emerge, or illumination I be drowned in,
Where the exit is, puzzles makes me painstakingly thickheaded,
Pale as I choose with randomness to my curves,
Ignoring the obvious things that I have dreaded.
The world is an ocean, a flow of knowledge which swims in itself,
How can one make it, how can one even hope to simply reach the top shelf.
It matters not, the words of a wise man are the words of one who’s not,
All the people who doubt his words,
Are those of plainness who will be finished and forgot.
From West to South, from Low ground to high,
We analyze everything intending to sigh,
We know not, what tackles here,
What tackles there, we hide in fear,
And on our lives, do run in circles.
Pi times this and radius times that,
The volume of a cone versus the importance of politics
And how to shed fat,
It’s like they want us to do badly in life,
Badly, to take a knife,
And delve a little deeper into the flesh of mankind.
Those who stare into the abyss of their goal,
Are the first ones to wither and tarnish their soul.
by Marc Auf der Heyde, 17, John F Kennedy School, Berlin Germany
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