Some people are so sensitive
Their neurons grow into the earth
And they know which way they’re pointed
Even indoors.
When they see a plane fly by it must
Be like flying to them
And when they see a house they must
Think it’s like being in bed.
Maybe when they see someone else’s god
It feels like faith.
I must have beliefs
But I can’t feel mine at all.

 
 
 
In honor of the holiday, why didn’t anyone tell me Ayn Rand can rap? Or at least, that’s how I think of this guy.


One Response to “”

  1. Jan Freundschuh Says:

    very interesting poem….food for thought.

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