Each day I see people who make it, who succeed
and I view them with jealous eyes, envious of them
when each day I work hard to live, struggle till I bleed
as by their standards, I barely grow my own stem.
I sleep with bitter feelings, hating those who have more
riches and fame, the very things that make them happy
residing in the penthouse, while I rot on the bottom floor
living a good life when others feel miserable and crappy.
Then I think about the things that make me content
bringing love and hope to my heart, and never do I hide
when I'm down and my vigor is scattered and spent
my energy returns with a big hug from a loving child.
When I'm with them, the anger and sorrow leaves
as our children are a gift, one not everyone receives.
YOU ARE READING
Sonnets
PoesíaA collection of poetry written in a specific rhyme pattern. I hope you enjoy reading these sonnets as much as I did writing them.
