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written as a song

It's poetry in motion;

the world around us,

with no one word to describe it.

Constantly changing; the little things mean everything.

He wakes up everyday sick and tired of life.

A hundred people see him day-to-day, as he scrapes by.

Only a handful say "hello," even though they all know his name.

Years and years of feeling alone have driven him insane.

They all cry, they all ask "Why?,"

the day he takes his life.

They all say "If only..." and

they all feel guilty as they see his mother cry.

The day-to-day might not seem like it means anything,

but life doesn't stop, people change, and the same old jokes bring only pain.

Feelings, emotions, outbursts and breakdowns;

all chalked up to a bad day.

No one really paid attention – they all just assumed he'd be ok.

That doesn't mean anything now,

as they lower him into the ground.

They'll all remember that day,

with no one word to describe it.

It's poetry in motion;

the world around us,

constantly changing.

The little things mean everything.

In loving memory: Creigh Bisson