THERE IS NO TITLE #5

You bloods pulses in your veins just like it did in Thomas Jefferson’s. Your lungs expand and contract with the same rhythm as Alexander the Great’s.  You smile with same muscles as Elvis Presley. When your fingers run across the strings, your senses light up in same way that they did when Beethoven ran his fingers down the alabaster keys of a grand piano. When you open your mouth and fill the silent air with yourself, you do it the same as Johnny Cash did. You are the same as everyone else. But you are nothing like the others. It is the greatest oxymoron inside a human. Your heart flows blood into all four chambers of your heart giving you life in the exact same way that it did in the bodies of the great Spartan army. And you say you cannot do it? Darling, your bones are made of the ashes of every great soul that died in the name of Art.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I liked the flow of thoughts and the honest opinions.
"Darling, your bones are made of the ashes of every great soul that died in the name of Art."
I agree. We are the one who limit the journey and the dreams. Thank you for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote

[Perkele.7885]

I like your comparisons, indeed!

[flickering candle]

thank you, that means a lot :)

[Lizardo]

Wow, this is a pretty interisting story/poem. I like the way you used the famous people to contrast with you thoughts, really a good job!
Thanks for sharing

[flickering candle]

thank you:)

[Lizardo]

You're welcome!