When the meat is all phony,
And tastes like bologna,
You know that life is a bit stressed.
When the grapes are purple, but they're labeled green,
And the stems are splitting at the seem,
You know that life is way too depressed.
When the rain is out after a season of dry,
Watching you freeze in the season of pie,
You know that life is unfair.
When the ground is hollow,
With no melody to follow,
You know that life is no peachy pear.
And though you want what you can't take,
And your brain is rotting in overdone bake,
You have no doubts that you need life.
YOU ARE READING
Where All Dawn Breaks - A Poetry Book
PoetryThis is a collection of poetry, both mine and not. If it was written by somebody else, credit will be given as possible.
