Write 365: 1105 – Mixed Bag

At it again with these lines dropping from my cerebellum
Or is it the cerebrum, either way I’m flowing to my own drum
Raindrops fall and as Alanis once sang you learn and it’s ironic
As the dead horse lays and I continue to assault it with my stick
Throwing ideas at the wall hoping they will affix and form an image
Tracking my footprints, I’ll never end my quest for knowledge
Watering myself so that I can watch my growth through my optics
Ignoring the naysayers but I can’t deny the annoyance of critics
Wondering if I’ll have offspring to raise or will the legacy meet its demise
Having people question why I didn’t settle are conversations I despise
If only the stars were aligned in my orbit maybe I’ll float within a system
Living life gambling on risks like sliding into wetness with no condom
Maybe something will come from these gains or I’ll roll once more
In forty years, someone may unravel these writings and discover my lore