Often, too often,
We walk away from the things that aren't pretty about life.
We look the other way because the grass is greener on the other side.
But we are not on that side.
The grass beneath our very own two feet is rotten.
So we start over, and we are careful to let the grass drink water.
Water from a stream of words.
But we are choking on that stream of words.
We are afraid to let these words breathe because of the negative connotation put behind them.
The issues of everyday life never get to see everyday, because we avoid them.
We'd rather talk about the 'glory days'.
But those days of glory are gone and the grass is dead again, because the water stopped once the grass was green.
And now, the grass beneath our very own two feet is dead.
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Life: A Collection of Tragedies
PoetryThis poem is based off of the game Cribbage. In this board game, for every 15 you get, you receive two points. My grandpa passed away from lung cancer and all I have left of him is the cribbage board that him himself taught me how to play on. This...
