Maybe among so many barricades I could hold

Maybe among so many barricades I could hold, I was born to be read once and never to be read again. To be glanced at but never to turn heads. To be a writer and never to be the one written about. To immortalize the beauty I find in them, but only to fall under the shadows of my mortality. Perhaps the simplicity of my existence is what brings the main character comfort. To become a poet and never an undying poetry. Capturing words at a glance, as they pass by me, capturing the hooks under the bright sunlight. Maybe among so many barricades I could hold, I was born only to be read once and never to be read again. Rivers of thoughts flow through my mind, an uninterrupted stream of consciousness, Metaphors break like waves on the shore, bringing with them echoes of deep melancholy. In every barricade I raise, I find a new limit of my soul, A barrier between me and the light that shines so far, so inaccessible. The pages of my life turn on their own, words fade into silence, And in each letter, I feel my own ephemerality, my own passage through time. When the stars fade one by one, when the shadows lengthen, I remain, a simple observer, a writer without a story, a poet without poetry. Maybe in all this passage, in this journey through the barricades of life, There is a hidden beauty, a silent comfort for those who look beyond the surface. And maybe there, in that simplicity, I find the answer myself, For maybe, among so many barricades I could hold, I was born to be read once and never to be read again.