Unidentifiable
  

Everybody loves at least one identifiable thing in their life.

The weird thing about it is that it's so hard to identify just what exactly it is about that thing that you love.

We're all different, but alike in so many ways.

But there's always that one thing inside of us that is unique.

That, too, is unidentifiable.

Our identity can easily be traced by names, fingerprints, and our past that can never be erased.

Why do we feel as if we have to put a title on everything?

Sometimes I wish words were never even invented.

But then how would we communicate?

Everything has a purpose.

But that purpose is usually unidentifiable as well. 

So when you think about it, it all goes back to that.

They say that before you die, images of your life flash before your eyes.

So, I wonder, when I have just a few monents to think of before I leave this earth, will it all finally be identified?

Or will I just be left with a feeling?

Because when you think about it, feelings are the only things that are really, real.

 


Comments:
 
StarPoet   StarPoet wrote
on 6/26/2008 3:24:21 AM
Another thoughtful piece of work! You impress me with your introspections.

BeachChick
Poetry
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writing BeachChick
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