It was written in the sand
But the sea washed it away.
It was written on the cliffs
But they crumbled day by day.
It was written on the sun
But the clouds did claim the sky.
And then we wrote it in our hearts
So that it will never die.

"you can't just
touch my soul
and leave"

When poets die
It's sad and true,
It matters not
What their bodies do,
The spirit flies
To Poet's Corner,
In Westminster Abbey.
You'll not see
Busts or inscriptions
For all the poets
Whose spirits linger
Alongside Chaucer, Browning, Spencer,
And a myriad of authors.
Dead Poet you have earned your share;
Dead Poet I will know you're there,
Composing in the Laureate's lair.

I exist and nothing more
Just like a million people
Who have and can and will and should
Live and laugh the best they could

No more important than the last
People think they rule the world
But like a million others they are a cog
That turn and turns in endless fog

"But I'm special and I'm unique"
Cries the swelling 7 billion
Dye your hair and change your name
You can't escape, nothing but same

A special snowflake that melts in the sun
Into a sea of churning bodies
We hate to hear it, we're nothing new
The cycle goes on, endless, tried and true

It's happened before it will happen again
But do not despair for this is life
To love and laugh till the heart grows sore
For we exist and nothing more