November Freewrite

The world is a cruel thing isn’t it? Or rather, mankind seems to be particularly brutal and savage especially on one specific thing: interpretations. As I have come to understand, ones work could either be open for interpretations or someone could so viciously tell one in a smug tone that the piece can only mean one thing and therefore can only be interpreted as this one single thing. The poem I wrote below these rambling words (that let’s face it, even I don’t even quite know where this is all coming from), unintentionally has three meanings behind it, but it may also be open for  analyzing.

Looking up at my ceiling,

I see my stars,

My stars,

For when travesty strikes,

And wealth runs dry  

I know my stars light reaches me and warms me up on crisp autum nights,

In the truest sense,

Filling me up,

In my whole,

Not a fraction left unshining,

Though by physical means,

I am left to be quite ordinary.

But my darling take a walk with me and don't see me through logics eye,

Look through mine,

Windows to a beacon of the purest form of life and light,

A glimpse into the suns. 

Remember my dear,

The light in which you can see in,

Is only lighted by a single sun, a single beacon,

And what appears to be dark,

without a safehouse for miles around...

Just look around,

For modesty,

For equality.

Look for my stars,

And let them show you,

Just how awe-inspiring,

Just how breathtaking,

Just how beautiful you really are.

Ah, I know, this isn't my best work at all and the figurative language is pretty weak if you ask me....

Mini Piano. :D