You ask of goals and plans, of things
that are just expected to be done.
I see if I’m just a wanderer, I’m in the
wrong place under the wrong sun.
You say money is all we need, to be
happy, to be carefree.
But what if my blithe spirit is already
richer than you’ll ever care to be?
Your list of rules is too long for the
spirit of a rebel that belongs to me.
I am of barbaric pirates whose only
goal is to steal treasure upon the sea.
Alas, I hope you find happiness beneath
the piles of your ubiquitous plunder.
But as for me, I shall sail with the breeze
and laugh with the gypsy thunder.
because "poetry is life, and one cannot aspire to be a liver of life. You just are. But of course, we can always aspire to be better at it,
'to try again, fail again, and to fail better.'"
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