No backup, what a scary thought, With nothing to rely on, we're caught, In a world that's uncertain and fast, Where anything can happen, at any time, at last.
By Poems3 years ago in Poets
Chickens, feathered creatures of the land, Clucking and pecking, with beaks so grand, Scratching and foraging, for bits of feed,
A cutting board, a simple piece of wood, With scratches and marks, that tell a story, it could, Of meals made, and ingredients sliced,
Twelve, a number with significance so grand, With roots in time, and a history so planned, It's the number of zodiac signs, in the sky,
Skipping rope, a simple childhood toy, With memories of laughter, and joys of boy, Jumping and twirling, with feet so light,
I just wanted to die, a thought so dire, A feeling so heavy, with a soul so on fire, In a world that's cruel, and a heart that's cold,
My ex, a person, once close to my heart, Memories shared, that now, just fall apart, A love once strong, now distant and weak,
Cholesterol, oh what a foe, A silent danger, don't you know, It clogs our veins, causes strife, Leading to heart disease, what a life.
I am sick of, a feeling so low, A state of mind, that just won't let go, Tired of the routine, and the daily grind, A soul that's weary, with a spirit confined.
Hustle, a word that's full of drive, A spirit so fierce, that helps one survive, It's the push to keep going, when times are tough,
A wick, a thin string, so simple and plain, A tool so humble, but with purpose so vain, It's the bridge between the flame and the wax,
Join the club, a group of peers, With common interests, and shared ideas, A place to belong, a community to grow, Where friendships are formed, and bonds begin to show.
