I've always wondered to myself
Poem, stanza, words and all
Why are they so dark?
A world of pain, sadness, and hurt?
Where are happiness, rainbows, and love?
Have they been disposed of?
But as I unravel my thoughts, feelings and all
Then I realized something
A world of problems
A world of anger and hurt
Nothing could be more empathetic than that
A poem to show them you're suffering
To show how harsh life could be
Isn't that the best way to ease your burden away?
To get rid of that heavy weight in your chest?
The rawest form of poetry of them all?
Thus, it's hard to write when you're happy
There's nothing to write about
No bitterness, nothing to let out
Because happiness is just a temporary drug
Problems and change are the eternal truths
Funny that that's how life works, right?
YOU ARE READING
Stanza
شِعر"IT'S POEHTIHC" Said the nut, who's one of the authors of this book. "...YOU BAKA, FOINE" Was what the potato, the other author, replied as she laughed and wondered what's wrong with them. This book is a compilation of poems made by two weird author...
