Never the Same, but as They Want
You and I are never going to be the same.
People, like the seasons, change.
Could it be that treason's fame
Is through collective, not individual, gain?
For if one fails to go with the grain,
That one is hammered, driven insane,
And all the world keeps moving,
Without a blink, a say.
Do you have yourself to give away,
Or a benefit to fit someone else's game?
If not, you are someone else's problem,
And that is the way you stay.
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Comments about this poem (Never the Same, but as They Want by Edwin Cordero )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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