Truman Show

We are all the same. To some extent, by which we all are programmed the same. We each think everything is just for us at times but then we each think that we are part of some other master plan, which technically we are. Each of us are just a little part of something bigger, but still each of us are that something bigger.

The only way to win is to make it all the way to the top, but that’s not even winning because all of the fun is in getting there. It doesn’t even matter where you end up because you are there, and that’s where you are, and it can change, because your life is always changing unlike in his world. When life isn't moving anymore it really isn't life. Its like its on the path of death, because life is being alive, and the world changing creating something new from moment to moment. Sometimes there is routine but nothing ever is exactly the same, and if something is too perfect it isn't real. Although that is now what our lives are. They aren't real.

The end is only a new beginning, a completely new beginning in this case. Although a new beginning isn't always better. A new beginning contradicts everything from before and you don’t know what is real or not. Also a new beginning is reaching the top, even though there is always a higher point which you can reach, but you might just not be able to see, like the wall of clouds. Things sometimes seem different from where you are and you cant always see the whole picture, but when you do all you see is a picture and you aren't in it anymore. 

Dreams/Odysseus

Author's Note- My poet is W.S. Merwin who wrote Odysseus. Odysseus is about history repeating itself over time, tricks, hope, loyalty, traitors and becoming one. I wrote about dreams. Dreams being dreams, of what you can become or being stories you have thought of, with "What if?" beginnings and endings. Dreams from long ago that are forgotten and later rediscovered and remembered. I tried to use the same line patterns as W.S Merwin, so please let me know how I did. Thanks for reading.

Dreams

Never having any limits to break,

No restrictions, no story dreamed unwritten

As it had never been thought of before.

Later forgotten over time

Then remembered, by something

That triggers a memory, and keeps living

Recreating the fantasy. There were the people

Each important in their way through your story

To be created, and one to be "real"

Everything that could have happened

Imagined into being real

Or not. Although its not. But sometimes thinking

That it is life forgotten

Which is really just a story actualized

Adventures that will never happen,

And considered, alive, reality, and lies,

Is there ever an awakening?

Odysseus

Always the setting forth was the same,

Same sea, same dangers waiting for him

As though he had got nowhere but older.

Behind him on the receding shore

The identical reproaches, and somewhere

Out before him, the unraveling patience

He was wedded to.  There were the islands

Each with its woman and twining welcome

To be navigated, and one to call ``home.''

The knowledge of all that he betrayed

Grew till it was the same whether he stayed

Or went.  Therefore he went.  And what wonder

If sometimes he could not remember

Which was the one who wished on his departure

Perils that he could never sail through,

And which, improbable, remote, and true,

Was the one he kept sailing home to?