My Favorite Craft
O' how I wonder,
How you turned out so sour.
Do all my dedicated hours,
Merely build an already crumbling tower?
Under scrutinizing gaze,
Gone is my youthful haze.
I seem to labour fir days,
But none of it ever pays.
Once I thought I an expert,
But to them I am an amateur.
My colorful glasses are fractured,
Sometimes I think I should put you out to pasture.
There is a place where dreams die,
Where I eternally scream inside.
Some people here actually thrive,
But I barely manage to survive.
YOU ARE READING
Book of Poems
PoetryWhen the world rages around you, When no one can find you, When you're ready to leave, Be it by land or sea, You'll always have me. Me and this book of poems. So when you are ready to leave... Please, Please take a poem or three, That they might bri...
