1 April 2020
For a few times,
I smell the aroma of the sadness,
Sorrowful waves,
Coming in every sound of the second,
It was the last thing I ever thought,
To take the chances of improvement,
The door is there,
Beautifully crafted,
The scent of the success,
But chains within my hands,
Whilst and legs,
There is a huge lock,
Within my neck,
To be freed is to break the neck,
That is how my world is,
The Supreme does know,
How to let others,
Be the servants of His creations,
What differ us,
The silver spoon, and the wooden one,
Why does the lucky always the silver one?
And why does the worst is always the wooden one?
What is equality? What is the similarity?
Of being the servant for the Supreme,
And servant of the World?
At the end,
We... Just servants of something...
YOU ARE READING
JOUSKA
PuisiNOTICE!!! These writings are meant only for the one that open minded and that want to read this for filling the free time by reading the words that describing the writer's mind. This writing is not meant for the judgmental type people BE CAREFUL! So...
