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I’m amazed that the world got to see your light before you did,
But then again, the eyes cannot see their beautiful colours,
And some are just ill fated to look at blurred mirrors.
After all, no one knows how the blind man thinks,
Or what colours paint his imagination.

You’ve sauntered through life, a nomad chasing redemption,
Lost in the desert of self-discovery,
You blindly chase the mirage of imitation.
Now you’ve reached an all-time low,
Accepting the mediocrity you’ve ascribed to your soul.

You’re mundane now, with nothing novel to show,
Your brilliance is only a charade, like winter without the snow.
Visible, yet insignificant, streetlight without the glow,
Oh how low you’ve fallen, laden with potential,
Imprisoned by dams of self-doubt.
But what new fish can you catch from a river that cannot flow?