We live in a world of material daze hazed
with goals draping our shoulders like razed
hairs flickering to realities’ candles grazed
by circumstances’ winds waiting to be praised.

We bear our chests hoping to look good
but we wind up crying and lit up like firewood.
We hold on to our principles wishing we could
be seen as beacons not wearing pigeons for a hood.

In the end, we are all alike in the dark crazed
by motive and need, lost in words that fazed
our souls before our minds, until we are gazed
upon with others’ judgment leaving us appraised.

We look up the sky see it high from where we stood
but we live and die under that sky trying to be understood.
We are prisoners of our own device barred behind should
forgetting that how to live resides in I did the best I could.

Inspired by: “My head may be in the clouds but the sky is no longer my limit”

Catch more of Pasithea Chan with her previous posts here. You can also find her brand of poetry on Facebook.