I don't think I truly understand
the value of the pen and the paper in my hand
or the gift of simply reminiscing
and knowing there aren't any pieces missing

because I don't want holes in my memories
and I hope that my thoughts will go on for centuries
somewhere a new dream is unfolding
somewhere in my mind ideas are molding

my heart never beat until I heard the song
the one I had been aching to write along
I can't imagine things any other way
from the way that they are today

life is just a storyline to be followed
and time is just a theme to be borrowed
it always creates the illusion of waiting
the plot always has everyone debating

so what's it worth to keep on living?
so what's it worth to keep on giving?
so what's it worth to keep on trying...
when the characters will all be dying?

is it worth the loving and despising,
the wondering and agonizing?
is it worth all of the conversations,
when they all lead to confrontations?

I don't think I truly understand
how much determination and demand
is required to escape inevitable despair
when everybody knows life isn't fair

Jade Leven

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/inevitable-despair/