Me at the End

I'm writing this blog 3AM on the day
It's due, soon, 6th period philosophay
I sit, staring, still, stumped on what to say-
Realizing not only how this poem is bad
But that I had already ruminated on my past
My present, but not my future, not certain on my beliefs
Yes, maybe, but not no, cause I don't know, can't know, won't know
if what I believe is right, trouble telling tricks from truths
But just between me and you, is that all we knew?
Lies and deceit that clouded our minds.
Stubborn and firm of our own place in time.
Our importance, and on the line was our pride.
And prejudice, Austen would say
Often leading to austere debates,
We just had to emancipate our ideas and thoughts
let them be free, to learn only wisdom should be sought,
like the great minds, famous and those never talked about
Because those great thinkers, great minds, great philosophers
Those great people in books, sir, madam' and her
mind, his mind, my mind, our mind, are just as great
just as large pondering subjects we all do,
we all share, because we are all human.
We have our differences, our tastes, our beliefs
that we teach, we heave, we leave, we find,
constantly changing, leaving lost ones behind.
Because we are continuously growing,
On our own, alone, slowly, but there is more,
cause I care to share what's there 'neath my hair
in my brain, must explain this knowledge.
Spread it far like a global telecommunicast
Because the curtains finally cast, I've seen the past,
written by the winners, not those who finished last.
But those who did last are those who populated
The world with their thoughts on how it operated.
Elated, fated that others seem to tend
the same thoughts in their head, torn beliefs to mend.
But as this is my last blog post I will send.
I will just leave this: This is me in the end.