They think they know me,
Amidst the pain that I've seen.
I'm still surrounded by it
Clowded by judgement,
And encompassed in darkness.
My strength is, of course, my silence.
I box words to the sweet melodies of violins,
And these poems are just chronicles of the violence.
Me? I'm not CliffSinister or Jahlil,
Or Prometheus, or Dr. Sin.
I'm not the DertBag or the man I see in the mirror.
I am my character and my deeds,
My will and my spirit.
I am not this carcass that will decompose and cease to exist.
I am everlasting,
Stretching the bounds of immortality
And stealing an occasional glimpse of infinity
With my meditations.
They think they know me
While even I still wonder who I be.
Is it the questions that define me?
The why's, the who's and what's
How's and when's.
The human race, living life like I'm switching lanes.
Its amazing, the energy rush of finally discovering who I am,
Or rather, finally deciding to discover who I am.
I'm Prometheus, banished from my own land
To a new realm of pain.
© ThaPoetJahlil™
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