PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Why is it still you torture yourself

In those hours alone, distractions absent,

You let roam the wishes of a greater life

Yet hold no meaning to that which already is. 

You are a damned collector of achievements;

Hoarding your own, but never having quenched

The pursuit of grace in that which you do not have.

So he sat there wishing with all his might

That he'd soon, one day, surpass this trite

And be saved by an accolade adored. 

But as days passed by, he worked by night

To decipher a means to happiness; 

Though his brilliance, his mind was a blight.

It's a shame that these long nights were common

For he had not felt self love in too long

And living needs affirmation of life. 

And so poison was this ignorant plight

That the man's life and his living took flight;

Come from the bile that rose from his mirror's prose.

And so the foe, lo and behold

Were the woes of the despared;

Scared to lay open to life

Bare and full exposed.