(It’s Been Done)
What to write about,
When everything’s been written about.
How many times has thee been compared,
To a summer’s day?
Have we not raged, raged against
The dying of the light?
And the greatest minds of my generation,
I suppose, have already been destroyed.
So, what is left, I wonder.
When the frontiers have closed,
And the answers to all of life’s mysteries
Can be found on the internet.
I could write about cereal,
But bran just isn’t that interesting.
Or I could explore my dreams,
But no amount of analyzation can explain,
Why the Technicolor tortoises, are laughing.
So what then?
The secrets behind a sad looking waitress?
The meaning of my ratty running shoes?
The spectacle of humanity?
Or is all of this useless?
Or maybe, it is an opportunity,
To add some new color,
To an old canvas.