Where’s
Waldo
What’s the meaning?
Just another cliché
But does it make sense?
Does it ever?
Who what where when why
Always needing answers
Never find anything,
But never stop asking.
Lost in the a storm,
Wind whirling debris
Impossible to find clarity.
The piano keeps me in rhythm.
Moving along with the song
Written for me to play out.
Just a sad song with nothing to say.
Thespians with parts to play,
Some are the lead, some are the tree.
Why me? Why this? Why that?
Unscripted questions,
No scripted answers.
Stick to the script! ACTION!
But who wrote the
script?
Did you write your script,
Or just acting it out?
Is it too late for a rewrite?
Storm off the stage,
Charge into battle
Armed with your pen,
Challenge the writers
Create your own play.
But perhaps, this gesture
was the will of the writer?
Five thousand cardboard pieces,
can come together and recreate art.
Another puzzle to solve,
Life’s filled with many.
Sip endlessly the endless coffee cups,
Eyes are wide and lost in skies of blue.
Consumed with solving the jigsaw puzzle,
Perplexed at angry at lack of progression.
Should we tell him that some pieces are missing?
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