I’m standing in my own shadow
that is cast by the light of wasted potential,
and disdainfully I stare at my ego,
begrudgingly acknowledging the need
to use it as fuel to propel me forward,
to prove myself among fellow creation,
our struggles ever playing out,
like some unheard symphony conducted
by an elusive maestro too skilled to fathom,
but which instrumental family do I belong to?
Could I be part of the woodwinds,
dancing on the surface of the tune,
participating in the most delicate of revelries,
or maybe I’m of the brass,
emphasizing the drama through each booming note,
sending chills with an impressive display of power,
or perhaps the percussion,
all other actions following my tempo,
leading the way as we march towards tomorrow,
but I know the answer,
each of us is our very own unique song,
the likes of which has never been heard,
nor will be heard of again;
so be enjoyable for others to experience.