I am an ordinary,
One who is binary,
I can see this clearly,
I’m the ordinary,
Bipolar,
In my actions,
Singular,
In my thinking,
Or believing,
Me the ordinary,
Has dined with the poor,
And have dined with the rich,
Yet they mutually,
Are ordinary,
In this living thing,
We can’t get outside the box,
The box that is ourselves,
If we did,
What would we be then?
I write,
I sing,
I do the art thing,
Yet it was my dream,
And now a reality,
And has become,
The ordinary,
For me,
We all want to live comfortably,
Who says any other thing?
The stars of our land,
Now understand,
That they too,
Are simply the ordinary,
Living in they’re dream,
Isn’t that the ordinary thing?
Hoping to cope,
Always wanting to grow,
Never content,
In simply being,
Or having what one is already seeing,
Let us move on,
We will always say,
It in any circumstance,
Will be our play,
As in the beginning of the book the Republic,
This would be a nice ordinary thing,
Yet as it moves along,
In all the diversity’s of each profession or trade,
Each one is an ordinary thing,
So to be one that is not,
This ordinary thing,
One would have to think act and move,
Not for its own being,
This person or it,
Would be outside the box,
Thinking always of the other,
Rather than his or her own comfort,
Yet as much as I’ve tried to be,
The unordinary,
I always see me,
In the midst of every,
Thought or deed,
There for I know,
Be me rich or poor,
I’m just the like of all,
The equal to,
And am,
The,
Ordinary,
It would be nice,
If I could obtain this other way,
Yet in that thought,
I’m still thinking of me,
And still remain,
I the ordinary way,
Ordinary…

Ryan Brady O’Reilly
10/2001