We are all addicted to something that takes away the pain
Be it good or great
Bad or worse
Or just for the hell of it
We live for the bliss
The drive
The thrill of the ride
To a destination that fuels the soul
We ask ourselves
What is the meaning of life
What is it that we must all strive for
What is the reason for existence
And I believe it's in the little things
The smell of coffee in the morning
Scent after a downpour
Rain on a tin roof
Freshly cut grass
Wildflowers
The breakdown aroma of old books
It's different for everybody
But it all means the same
That were here for the good things
The little things
The things that help make the fear of living bearable
And it's these additions
That will always keep us coming back
When we need a little release
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Book 4
Poetryhello again! another poetry book - number four, to be exact. if you've been here a while, you know the drill: there's no order to this thing, and after 100 poems or writing pieces, there's gonna be a new book. about the cover: it was a Thursday at S...
