Look up, I'm really fond of that red big baloon
Floating wherever he goes and travel as if death is coming soon
He's just as happy, no direction, with pointless gravity
He gets all scared when it's raining but more frightened when windy
How can the wind that brings him to float scares him to death?
Oh! He's scared with floating too fast for sharp things might dwelt!
And he's scared of heat, of the sun, of the fire, that might make his skin melt
Oh he's scared with everything! The ground, the flare, the water!
So he's just up there floating and with nobody rather
His living his life
But waiting for his possible death!
How is it called living as thing that supposed to make you alive is always a threat?
Float down here little baloon,
Forget all your worries you're not doom!
It's okay to be carried by the wind
But it's not okay to be constantly on his care, your feet will get rid!
It's okay to be hot from the sun, but then there's always a shelter you can run!
It's okay to be afraid, but you have to face it to move forward
For nothing is achieve when you're a coward
YOU ARE READING
One Hundred Fifty
RandomFifty, Fifty, Fifty A writing challenge for myself is to create fifty poems, fifty essays, and fifty one-shot stories, every single prekeng day to make it a hundred and fifty days of honing my skills and giving sparks to my interest. Here's the deal...
